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RHYMES OF 
OUR HOME FOLKS 




[See p. 42 



"that sainted friend — our mother" 



RHYMES OF 

Our Home Folks 

BY 

JOHN D. WELLS 

ILLUSTRATED 




HARPER fcf BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 






Copyright, T017, by Harper & Brothers 

Printed in the United States of America 

Published September, 1917 



I R ' 




OCT 3 1917 

©GLA476350 



TO 
MY LITTLE SO N 

John D. Wells, j r. 

THIS BOOK OF VERSE IS 
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Tale-telling Time {Foreword) xi 

When the Flag Goes By i 

When Us Boys Went Home 3 

Be Natural 6 

The Runaways 8 

Repentance 10 

At the Old Spring 12 

A Country Boy's Idea 14 

Wind in the Pines 16 

A Fambly Matter 18 

In the Married Quarters 20 

Pertainin' to Travelin' 22 

The Penitent 24 

Get in Step 26 

In a State of Delight 27 

Appertainin' to Age 29 

At the Reunion 31 

The Muse Outdone 34 

The Old Cedar Chest 36 

Without Introduction 38 

A Dream Place 40 

An Old-fashioned Rhyme 42 

The Missing Boys 44 

When the Stage Came In 46 

A Common Feller 49 

The Army of Dawn 51 

November! 52 



PAGE 



Grandpa's Rejuvenation 54 

The Three Favors 56 

The Man from the Hills 57 

Heart Shrines 59 

The Little Lace Lady 61 

The Middle One 63 

"How's the Fambly?" 66 

The Hired Man Says: 68 

The Childhearts 69 

The Migratory Friend 71 

When Youth Was Here 73 

The Vagrant Blessings 76 

The Chronicles of a Young 'Un 77 

When the Drums Go By 79 

The Better Self 80 

Pan at Large 82 

An Old Man on Circus Day 84 

A Boy's Summer 86 

When the Baby's Gone Away 88 

In the Feudist's Home 90 

The Orchard Seat 92 

The Horse-trader's Prayer 94 

The Dreamer 96 

An Old Man's Hope 98 

Chums 100 

The Little Man in the Wheel-chair ... 102 

A Peddler of Cheer 104 

A Country Shower 106 

At the Village Store 108 

The Blind Veteran no 

A Stavin' Old Friend 112 

A Glimpse of a Face in a Sidewalk Crowd . 115 



PAGE 

An Expose Averted 116 

Fancy, the Truant 118 

The Apologist 121 

Home 123 

An Autumn Occupation 124 

Little Child-o'-love 127 

"Sassafras" 129 

A Neighborhood Picture 131 

One Man's Theology 133 

The Street Musician 135 

Match-makin' 137 

The Lone Orchard Seat 139 

A Creed 142 

The Debt You Owe 144 

The Village Wagon-shop 146 

When Joe Allen Comes to Visit 149 

The Church in the Forest 151 

An Old Man Musing 153 

At the Horse Sale 155 

Youth and Age 157 

The Return of Sunshine 159 

The Uncertainty of Spring 160 

Home from School 162 

A Good-natured Loafer 164 

Lines from a Bachelor's Den 167 

And This Is the Way It Was 168 

Whistlin' Phin 170 

Just About Now 172 

A Task for the Rhymester 175 

A Longin' 177 

Evenin' 180 

The Poet Dreamer 183 



FOREWORD 

TALE-TELLING TIME 

Give me some color to weave in my rhyming, 
Lots of the somberest hues for the priming, 
Plenty of silvery gray and of white 
Picturing Age in a state of delight; 
Something of yellow with red coming after 
Shading the picture with fun and with laughter; 
Teach me to skilfully paint it in rhyme 
Showing the children at tale-telling time, 
And grandfather, facing the firelight's flashes, 
Tracing the course of the past in the ashes. 

Tremulous, slow, as if carefully pondered, 
Follows his cane o'er the way he has wandered— 
This one, the pathway that beckoned him here — 
Beckoned the sturdy to tame the frontier; 
That one to mill, and another trace, fainter, 
Led to the haunts of the bear and the " painter" 



This one, much longer and deeper and more 
Fixed than the others, that led him to war — 
And one that he trod through the war-crimsoned 

clover 
Back to his loved ones when warfare was over. 

Heed you, all poets forever inditing, 
Poems and themes that are scarce worth the writing, 
Choose you some colors all carefully blent, 
Fashion a picture and call it "Content"; 
Picture the scene and the love dwelling under — • 
Golden-haired children in open-eyed wonder — ■ 
Grandfather, ruddy-faced mentor and host, 
Dreaming the dreams that he cherishes most; 
Youth and Old Age in the firelight flashes 
Tracing the course of the past in the ashes. 



RHYMES OF 
OUR HOME FOLKS 



RHYMES OF 
OUR HOME FOLKS 

WHEN THE FLAG GOES BY 

(Thus speaks Private Thompson, veteran of foreign service) 

Love of the flag? Well, what do you know of 

it?— 
What do the men of your kind ever show of it, 
But stand on your legs when the colors go by 
And yelp with the others and never know why? 
What do you know, who dodge all the wars 
And don't know the colors except at bazaars? 

Love of the flag? Well, what do you know of 

it?— 
Men of your kind who ne'er saw the glow of it 
Against the black sky at the end of the day 
When crimson and daylight were ebbing away? 
[i] 



What do you know, who never surmise 

How bravely a soldier can smile when he dies? 

Love of the flag? Well, what can you tell of it? — 
Never saw battle, and don't know the smell of it! 
And yet you will boast as it snaps in the wind, 
And can't see the shadow hosts marshaled 

behind — 
Don't know the cost in death and in woe, 
And don't stop to think of the debt that you owe! 

Love of the flag? Well, if you would know of it, 
Out on the skirmish line you'll find a show of it; 
It's not the bright colors you see at bazaars, 
But tattered and frazzled by heathenish wars! 
Hark while the sergeant is checking the "Lost" — 
That's love of the flag and the price that it cost! 



[2] 



WHEN US BOYS WENT HOME 

When us boys come back, we jest 
Planned we'd have the beatin'est 
Rear-an'-tear old jamboree 
Our old township ever see! 
Planned on it, we did, an' writ 
Back an' forth to not forgit 
This or that — old truck, perhaps, 
We had when we's little chaps! — 
"Make is sure-enough git back," 
Bill wrote 'way from Pontiac, 
Michigan — an' same from Buck, 

An' Sim an' Ed — 

Even Fred, 
The orphant boy ma tuk. 



"Sure-enough comin' back!" an' yet 
Drivin' homeward seemed to let 
The bottom out of all we'd planned. 
Things was changed so, understand! 
[3] 



Not a house or gate or bend 

'Long the road disclosed a friend! — 

Trees had growed, an' even the 

Jimson snubbed us, seemed to me. 

'Til there wa'n't a smilin' face 

By time we reached the Jenkins place! 

Hard to believe that we was Buck, 

Sim an' Ed 

An' Fred, 
The orphant boy ma tuk. 

Pottered round the farm, we did, 
Wonderin' where old treasures hid — 
Huntin' trees with names cut on, 
Wonderin' where the squeak had gone 
From the old well-sweep, an' how 
Father gits the cows up now 
Since we've left — and lookin' fer 
Yeller-jackets' nests that were, 
'Til we'd sort o' dimmed our sight! 
Getherin' home ag'in at night 
On the back stoop — pa an' Buck, 

Sim an' Ed 

An' Fred, 
The orphant boy ma tuk! 
[4] 



Lawsey, if the days was sad, 

Then the nights was twice as bad! — 

With the moonshine overhead 

Givin' shape to all the dead 

Fancies that a feller takes 

All through life for their sweet sakes! 

An' ma's voice a-whisperin' 

Through the pines, "You're home ag'in!" 

'Til we set there squinty-eye 

Like men do too big to cry, 

like Buck 

An' me an' Ed 

An' Fred, 
The orphant boy ma tuk! 



BE NATURAL 

Takin' people ginerally 
I admit there seems to be 
Alius somethin' wrong with some — 
I might say with all of 'em! 
Manners, mebbe, ain't the best, 
Or they're better than the rest — 
Mebbe they're too this or that 
For the place they're livin' at; 
Things their neighbors can't abide 
Seem to cloud their pleasant side; 
An' they're mostly things they could 
Cure if they jist understood 
What the simple cure is — 
All they got to do is this — 
Jist be natural! 

If the Lord has patterned you 
Commonplace — He figgered to! — 
'Tain't your place to sneer an' smirk 
At His homely handiwork! 
[6] 



Don't you fault nor make complaint, 
Nor try to pass for what you ain't — 
Don't put on no lug nor swell 
Turkey-fashion! — you can't tell 
But there's someone watchin' who 
Knows your record through an' through — 
Knows your fambly pedygree 
All the way from A to Z! 
An' you'll make that man doggone 
Sick to see you puttin' on — 
Jist be natural! 

No, I don't pertend to be 
Posted on the-ol-ogy — 
"Do your best and let 'er go," 
That's the only creed I know; 
Yet, I've pictured folks I meet 
Gethered at the Judgment Seat; 
There's the place, I rise to state, 
Where such folks will 'spatiate, 
Put on lug an' strut ag'in 
Tryin' to prove how good they've been! 
An' 'twill make my heart rejoice 
Jist to hear a thunderin' voice 
Rise above the pleadin' crowd — 
Peter, shoutin' strong an' loud — 
"Jist be natural!" 
[7] 



THE RUNAWAYS 

Back of all the happiness 
An' hullsome joys that alius bless 
Parentage, it's my surmise 
There's lots an' lots o' sadness lies — 
Sadness in the thought that they 
Ain't alius children, jist to stay 
Round us here an' never grow, 
An' wish the Lord had willed it so. 

Jist to-day I heard their ma 

Call in the twins an' bresh 'em. Law! 

Washed 'em up an' combed their hair 

'Til there wa'n't a finer pair 

Anywhere the country 'round, 

That anybody's ever found! 

Then she sent 'em off to play, 

An' turned an' breshed a tear away. 

Then she come to me an' hid 
Her tear-wet face, Loretty did. 
[8] 



'Twixt her sobs she showed to me 
The things a man can't never see — 
How they're losin' all their wiles, 
Their baby ways an' baby smiles — 
Jist broke down a-tryin' to say 
"They're gettin' further off each day!" 

Sure enough! For, lookin' down 
The county road to'rds Shingletown, 
Dogged if there wa'n't ary twin 
Of 'Retty's runned away ag'in! — 
Jist made off as quick's a wink 
Through the fields, two specks o' pink 
'Gainst the green yender hill — 
Headed straight for Lincoln's Mill! 

Got a switch an' took the pup, 
An' off we went to round 'em up, 
Thinkin' every step I tread 
Of the words Loretty said — 
Further off! — an' tried to smile, 
An' prayed the Lord in my pore style 
To lengthen out their baby days 
An' give us back our runaways! 

[9] 



REPENTANCE 

When the winter wind is howlin' 
An' the weather gits to growlin' 

An' my fiddle is reposin' on the shelf, 
An' the fambly all is sleepin', 
An' the fire's scarcely keepin', 

Then I'm apt to git to talkin' to myself. 

Then I'm apt to set an' wonder 
An' to ponder why in thunder 

This an' that is so an' things are as they be, 
An' I'm pretty apt to figger 
How I'd built it better, bigger, 

If the Lord of all Creation, say, was me! 

An' it really is surprisin' 
How I git philosophizing 

An' the great momentous questions I decide. 
I conclude there's too much talkin' 
An' there's heaps too many walkin' 

Of a class of men who'd railly ought to ride, 
f iol 



Luck, it seems to me, is servin' 
Lots o' men who ain't deservin', 

An' it's passin' by a lot o' men who be — 
Jist reverse of rule an' letter. 
Seems to me I'd fixed it better 

If the Lord of all Creation, say, was me! 

'Fore I know it I'm a-faultin' 
Lord A'mighty, an' I'm haltin' 

In my boundless faith — an me a Baptist, too! 
An' my puny doubt I'm castin' 
On His wisdom everlastin' 

As no man of my acquaintance orter do! 

Then the natural consequences 
Is I seem to git my senses, 

An' rise an' lay my pipe up on the shelf; 
An' I'd feel ashamed an' hateful 
If I didn't feel so grateful 

Jist to think I's only talkin' to myself! 



["] 



AT THE OLD SPRING 

I stay the cup half lifted up! 

The song of a bird sounds far 
From the solitude of the friendly wood 

Where councils of robins are; 
A chipmunk fleet resumes his beat 

On the run of the topmost rail, 
And down in the thatch of the fence I catch 

The wave of a cottontail. 

The earth smells rise, and the maple cries 

With joy for the newborn Spring — 
The jump-ups stir at the feet of her, 

And tributes of blossoms bring; 
And far, far off by the old pump-trough, 

The shuffle and low of kine 
And the squeak and "cheep" of the old well-sweep, 

Too sweet for a poet's line. 

On gentle wings the Southwind brings 
The sounds of an old home place — 

[12] 



The plowboy's song as he chants along 
To the tune of the clanking trace; 

The far-off noise of the girls and boys 
At play in the meadows there, 

And, sweet and low as the Southwinds blow, 
A farmwife's song — somewhere. 

I stay the cup half lifted up! 

The song of the world sounds sweet 
From the refreshing woods and the solitudes 

Of God's great country seat; 
The charms impart to a wearied heart 

The tilt of as sweet refrain 
As angels sing, and I drink to Spring 

Abroad in a country lane. 



I3l 



A COUNTRY BOY'S IDEA 

It seems t' me the Lord, who made all things both 

great and small, 
Devised some way er other to perfect 'em one an' 

all. 

Fer instance, take a porkypine — now he kin hold 

his own, 
An' teach folks he is aimablur when he is let 

alone. 

An' skunks, fer speshul reasons, are secure — drat 

their pelts! — 
An' ain't afraid o' ennything — of dawgs er nuthin' 

else. 

Why, even roses seem t' laugh an' dare you "come 

>• »> 
agin — 

The purtier they grow the more the prickers 

hedge 'em in. 

[14] 



An' once I found a daisy patch in lower medder. 

Whe-e-e! 
They only tossed their heads an' sicked a yeller- 

jack on me! 



[15] 



WIND IN THE PINES 

Wind in the pines, if you only knew 

Who rests in your kindly shade, 
How good and noble she used to be, 
How much she bore and how patiently, 

And answered so unafraid! 
If you only knew! Though you shriek and moan 
Through all the world, in this spot alone 
You would temper your song through the hanging 

fir, 
As soft as the low, sweet voice of her. 

Stars of the night, if you only knew 

Whose vigil you keep and why, 
You would keep the watch — e'en the very least — 
From the shadowy line of the Twilight East 

To the gray of the Daylight Sky; 
She trailed your course through the painful night, 
And read the truth of the Infinite. 
Ah, the way she answered the Reaper's nod 
Was worthy a smile from the face of God! 
[16] 



Sun of the day, if you could but know 

How kindly she was, and true — 
How much of gladness she was a part — 
How much she held in her mother heart 

Of the good glad warmth of you— 
If you could but know, you would deck her 

breast 
With the morning jewels she loved the best, 
And blossom the path for her hurrying feet 
That joyous day when the loved ones meet. 



[I7l 



A FAMBLY MATTER 

A fambly matter, I suppose, 
An' yet I've alius held, who knows 
A new receipt or cure — well, 
They're sort o' duty bound to tell; 
An' that, I s'pose, is the reason why 

A man like me persumes to chatter 
About a thing that I — well, I 

Would designate a fambly matter. 

An' if the text was left to me, 
I'd call it "Ma's Philosophy" 
Because, by some unusual chance, 
It rhymes ma's luck at raising plants — 
The scrubs that others jist despise! 

The Baptist preacher used t' tell her, 
"It's Life your creed exemplifies," 

An' he's a mighty learned feller. 

Now, like enough she'd favor jest 
The orneriest an' scrubbiest 
[IS] 



Unpop'lar, lowdown, dad-burned weed 

That any mortal ever seed, 

An' coax it into bloom next day — 

In blooms so sweet we all would like 'em! 
"Well, how d' you do it, ma?" we'd say. 

"I put 'em where the sun kin strike 'em." 

Her kin an' folks who knowed her best, 
An' knowed how plain she was, '11 jest 
Declare her like them flowers there 
She coaxed an' raised with tender care; 
As plain as jimson at the start; 

An' yet, her charms you had to like 'em — 
Because she alius kept her heart 

An' nature where the sun would strike 'em. 

Now this old world I s'pose you know 
Can't never be no flower show, 
With such old weeds as you an' me 
Around here, like we'll alius be! — 
Yet we could blossom, every one, 

An' mebbe bloom so folks would like us, 
If we'd jest do what mother done, 

An' linger where the sun would strike us. 



19 



IN THE MARRIED QUARTERS 

Down in the married quarters, 

Away from the bugle and drum — 
Down where the medals and plaudits 

And splendor of war never come; 
Down past the end of the barracks 

Where children swing out on the gate — 
Down where the wives and mothers 

Pray God for His mercy, and wait. 

Down in the married quarters, 

Where messengers come with the sun, 
Bringing good cheer from the absent 

Or news of the victory won; 
Women's hearts beat but the faster, 

And dread comes to stifle again — 
Safe for to-day, but to-morrow? 

What message will come to them then? 

Down in the married quarters, 

Where soft-spoken messengers tread, 
F20I 



Here and there pause for a moment 

And leave them the news of their dead; 

Youth ceases play in its wonder — 

Tis hearts of the women war sears' — 

Toll from a soldier is duty, 

The toll from a woman is tears! 

Down in the married quarters, 

Where sorrowing women must wait — 
Sunny-faced children are watching 

Their soldier to greet at the gate; 
There's where the battles rage hardest, 

Aye, there's where the sacrifice comes, 
Down in the married quarters 

Away from the bugles and drums! 



[21] 



PERTAININ' TO TRAVELIN' 

I'd like t' travel 'round, an' yit 
I never could git used t' it! 
There ain't no rest, I've alius said, 
A-sIeepin' in some feller's bed 
Y' never knowed, an' what is more, 
No knowin' who slept there before! 
In spite o' that I've traveled some 
Without a-losin' sight o' hum. 

The point is this: My travelin' here 
'S been mostly in my rockin'-cheer 
That I git into every night — 
I shuck my boots, an' then I light 
Right out, an' 'fore you know I'm gone 
With that 'ere feller Stevenson, 
Across the world, a thousand mile! — 
T' Hebredies — er Treasure Isle! 

Er mebbe wander, arm in arm, 
With Field, around the Sabine Farm, 

[22] 



An' hear the merry laff an' shout 
Of childurn that he wrote about; 
Er mebbe hang t' Kiplin's hand, 
An' flit t' India's coral strand, 
T' hear the bells, er tag behind 
Mulvaney an' his reckless kind! 

An' when the clock gits workin' 'round, 
I alius hunt untwel I've found 
Jim Riley — ol'-time friend o' mine! — 
An' go with Jim to Brandywine; 
Er meet Doc Sifers, mebbe, who 
Jim wrote about — an' like him, too — 
An' gas of things that "in an' out" 
A country sawbones knows about! 

Git sleepy, too, and nod away, 

An' havin' had my holiday 

An' seen the world, like other men, 

I want t' git back hum again; 

An' here's where my plan beats a mile 

Them folks who goes in steamer style — 

I shet my book an' I'm at hum 

With Myry and the rest of 'em! 

[23] 



THE PENITENT 

Settin' here beside the hole where once I used 

to fish 
Settin' here, content to wait an' watch my hook 

an' wish — 
Settin' here contenteder than I've set anywhere, 
Since I up an' moved to town to get a change of 

air — 
Fortune, too! — as records go, they 'ain't got nuth- 

in' in 
Showin' I got either one — but now I'm back 

ag'in! 

Listenin' whilst a kildee sings like kildees alius 

does, 
Whilst a chipmunk 'spatiates on what a fool I 

was! — 
Bowin' down my head because it alius seems that 

they 
Scold me sort o' friendly-like because I went 

away; 

[24] 



Bowin' down my head with shame, yit bear it 

with a grin — 
I can stand their scoldin' now, 'cause IVe got 

home ag'in. 

There I didn't have a thing, not ary patch o' sky — 
Here I own 'most everything around me, purty 

nigh, 
There they wa'n't a single friend to smile an' say, 

"Hello!" 
Here they all are friends o' mine an' alius treat 

me so; 
There they wa'n't a single voice that cared to 

jine in — 
Here they al! are chorusin', "We've got him home 

ag'in!" 

Settin' here beside the hole where once I used to fish, 
Plumb content an' happy now because I got my 

wish! 
Got my senses back ag'in an' snicker in my mind 
About the fortune that I missed an' luck I left 

behind! 
Not a thing to do but loaf an' wait the dinner call, 
Bait my hook an' wonder why I ever left a' tall. 
[25] 



GET IN STEP 

The woodpecker's "strum" on a holler elm-tree 
Is the best sort of drum that ever you see — 

It's better a lot 

Than Herkimer Knott 
Can drum in our band — that is, 'cordin' to me. 

In Spring of the year when he's sassy and fat, 
He drums special loud with his ratty-tat-tat, 

An' special fast, too — 

So lively that you 
Nor no other mortal could keep step with that. 

"Now, ain't that 'ere drummin' too lively," says 

Tish, 
"For every-day marchin'?" I hanker an* wish 
An' cock up my eye: 
"It's dependin'," says I, 
"If a feller is marchin' to work or to fish!" 



26] 



IN A STATE OF DELIGHT 

How's a feller goin' to be 
Any soberer than me, 
'Specially when the first of Fall 
Eggs him onward with its call? 

How's a feller goin' to wear 
Sunday looks, when I declare 
There ain't nothin' in or out 
That a man can frown about? 

You can try it! As for me 

I defy propriety! 

Fall — an' fun — an' skies of blue — 

Them's what I surrender to! 

Old woods paths an' hauntin' smells 
Here ag'in, that sort o' spells 
Autumn days afield an' free — 
Only jist myself an' me! 
[27] 



Somehow I can seem to hear 
Water chucklin' in my ear, 
From the crick-banks, over there 
Where my hopes an' ruthers are! 

Trees an' woods an' meadows — all! — 
Seems as if they're tryin' to call 
Your attention — Howdy-do! — 
Reachin' out their hands to you. 

It seems I've ketched my fish-hook in 

The seat of my desires ag'in, 

An' it pulls me on the run 

Away from work an' to'rds some fun! 

Every old-fool man like me 
Gits devorced from dignity 
When it's Fall! — I rise to say, 
I can't be no other way! 



28] 



APPERTAININ' TO AGE 

"What makes you call him old Dan Fessman, 

pa?" 
I once made bold to ask, an' he says: "Law! 
Because he is Old Dan! He's mighty nigh 
His ninety year — an' that's good reason why!" 

"Why, he remembers," pa went on to say, 
"And told me, too, a lot of times, the day 
He pulled up stakes to try his luck out Wes' 
When all this here was howlin' wilderness! 
He 'members bears — the first white child 'twas 

born 
In the county here — an' when he took his corn 
To Parkin's Crick, a hundred miles away, 
An' give up half to have it ground! An', say, 
It don't seem true, but Dan's shot many a 

deer 
In rifle-shot of this piazzy here! — 
An' panthers, too! Why, I remember one 
He treed down there beside that little run 
[29] 



That leads through town, an' killed him dead 's a 

smelt, 
First shot he made, then swapped the varmint's 

pelt 
To Eckry Smeed, the old tin-peddlin' man, 
For a pair of boots an' patent warmin'-pan. 
He 'members Tip, th' old Miamy chief, 
Who used to stop an' ask we'd jist as lief 
He'd stay all night — an' make a pair of sheep 
Or buckskin slips to sort o' pay his keep? 
He minds the time they built the County Road, 
An' helped 'em, too, an' alius claimed he showed 
First pioneers the safest way to git 
To Fort Delplain — the route folks follers yit! 
There's nothin' here, I guess, unless it's this 
'Ere soil itself, as old as Fessman is!" 

"But you," I says, "remember all these things!" 
"An' what if I do?" he shouts at me an' brings 
His fist down hard, an' adds, so stern an' cold, 
"It ain't no sign that / am gittin' old!" 



3°1 



AT THE REUNION 

(Gettysburg, 1913) 

Here's the way the layout was: 

There's your line 
Frontin' on the Henry House — 

Here was mine; 
There was Jackson's Corps an' Bee, 
Beauregard an' — lemme see — 

Jake Rapine 
He stood there, an' 'Lijah Rouse, 

Yes, an' me. 

First we knowed we heerd a gun — 

01' smooth bore! — 
Boomin' off to'rds Warrenton 

A mile or more; 
Jake Rapine he hollers: "See! 

Shindig starts right here!" says he. 
"Now there's war!" 
Why, there wasn't nary a one 
Close as me! 

[31] 



You remember, I suppose, 

How we fit? 
Won the record, Lordy knows! — 

Hold it yit! 
'Cross the Branch an' Turnpike, too — 
First the Gray an' then the Blue 

Took the bit! 
Lots o' times I got as close 

As me an' you! 

Well, I s'pose you 'ain't fergot 

Who won the day? 
Never will, as like as not — 

That's your way! 
Still, I've alius claimed instid 
Of a rout that we jist slid 

Off— What say?— 
When the others run I got, 

'Cause they did! 

Down the road to'rds Centerville 

Where I lit, 
I slowed up beside a rill — 

Tried t' git 

[32] 



A drink t' stop my dad-burned thirst — 
Sprawled right out an'— then the worst! 

I see y' yit! — 
There come your folks, lickety-spill 

Bay nuts first! 

Well, I felt my speerits sink 

Ten below! — 
I let out another link 

An' let 'er go, 
Racin' like a bee-stung cow! 
Come t' think of it, I vow 

Seems as though 
I never did git that 'ere drink! — 

Le's have it now! 



l33l 



THE MUSE OUTDONE 

I've rhymed the wood an' the pasture ways, 
The threshers' song an' the roundelays 
Of birds in Spring, an' the river's sheen, 
The roadside touched with the Apurl green, 
The first pink bloom in the orchard trees, 
The lilacs an' the drone of bees, 
"An' now," I says to myself, says I, 
"I'll take my pen in my hand to try 
An' tackle things on a bigger plan, 
An' rhyme the cheer of a happy man." 



The cheer of a happy man! Now there's 
A theme for the poet who really dares! — 
A happy feller who's out of debt, 
An' 'ain't done nothin' that he'd forget, 
Like some folks have! — an' whose testin' plumb 
Hangs straight an' true on his life at hum — 
An honest man who can meet the eye 
Of any naybor who passes by, 
[34] 



An' call him "friend" with an honest will — 
Now there's a theme that '11 test your skill! 

I tried my hand, but my aim went wrong!— 
My lines was short when his laughs was long, 
My lines run long when his woes was short, 
An' nothin' else went the way it ort! 
His song is simple, but every time 
Outsings the best of a feller's rhyme, 
An' makes his chords an' his music, that 
He liked the best an' had banked on, flat! 
The kind of cheer that your rhymes won't catch, 
An' nary a word in our song can match! 



[35] 



THE OLD CEDAR CHEST 

Searching through the cedar chest! 
What a rare, alluring quest — 
What a store of things forgot 
Come to light of day unsought! 
Broken plates, a little shoe, 
Marbles, and a top or two. 
Colored string in tangled lots, 
Twined and tied in hopeless knots- 
Tangles that, as days depart, 
Tighter bind some aching heart. 



Wrinkled faces, quaintly framed — 
Long forgotten, long unnamed — 
Peering from daguerreotypes; 
Locks of hair and bubble pipes. 
Tattered books whose pages hint 
Smudgy thumb and fingerprint — 
Telltale prints that seem to be 
Long lost keys to Memory 
[36] 



Found again, and turned to show 
Baby hands of Long Ago. 

Old and gray, it holds aloof 
Underneath the attic roof — 
None to see it, none to care, 
Yet it guards its keepsakes there; 
Treasure trove of smiles and tears — 
Heartbeats of forgotten years — 
Little things that whisper of 
Some one's sorrow, some one's love; 
Some one's life — its very best — 
Molders in the cedar chest! 



[37) 



WITHOUT INTRODUCTION 

I'm friendly with purty nigh all of the birds 

That chirrups or whistles or sings. 
I love 'em, that's all! — an' the depths o' them 
words 
Don't measure my love for the things! 
Vet Simms alius says — an' I'm proud of it, too, 
For Vet ought t' know, if any folks do — 
"There's nothin* on earth but '11 make up to 
you, 
With feathers an* wings!" 

The robin I like, an' the "hi-hole" an* crow 

In spite of his fambly of thieves; 
The birds that stick by us through blizzard an' 
snow, 

The pewee around in the leaves; 
The jaybird that struts in his cutaway coat, 
A-mockin' his betters an' swellin' his th'oat, 
An' fillin' his craw with lots more than his groat 

From farmers' sheaves. 
[38] 



I love 'em an' reckon they care for me, too. 

To-day didn't one of 'em light 
A rod or two off when he'd orter 'a' flew 

Skedaddlin' off out o' sight? 
But no, he jist "howdy-ed" as pert as could be! 
"I reckon you've got the advantage of me," 
I says, jist in fun, an' the rascal, says he: 

"Old— Bob— White." 



[39] 



A DREAM PLACE 

I dreamed a place of happy youth, 

A place of fun and laughter, 
Where Worry, with a wrinkled frown, 
Limped aimlessly around the town 

With children trooping after, 
Until they charmed the faintest trace 
Of worry from his troubled face. 

And Care, red-eyed from sleeplessness, 

Was jostled here and yonder 
By happy Youth, with hearts as free 
As ever hearts of Youth can be, 

Until Care paused to ponder. 
Then felt his burden slip away, 
And lo! he stepped as light as they. 

But, best of all my dream I found 

A shop where hearts were mended, 
Where hearts grown dead and scarred and old 
Were soldered with the purest gold 
And made as God intended, 
[40] 



Responsive to the wholesome glee 
Of children as they used to be. 

A dream! And yet I half believe 

A promise lies behind it — 
A promise that by some good grace 
There may be such a happy place, 

And mayhap we shall find it, 
And lose our cares and worries, too, 
And all be made as good as new. 



[41] 



AN OLD-FASHIONED RHYME 

Just a plain, old-fashioned rhyme, 

For she would have it so — 
Something with a mellow chime 

To sing the Long Ago, 
Ere her hair had turned so gray, 

And she was left alone, 
When her life was smiles alway 

To share them with her own — 
Time when half in tears and jest 

She turned aside to smother 
Childish troubles at her breast, 

That sainted friend — our mother! 



Sing of love and home again, 
And all that home has been — 

Sing it — ah, a sweet refrain 
With scent of blossoms in; 

Sing the garden path — and more, 
The old swing gate and the 
[42] 



Hollyhocks around the door 

She raised so tenderly; 
Sing it truly, sing it sweet 

'Til breezes speak the other 
Rhyme that makes the song complete, 

The holy name of "Mother." 

Then, O singer, tone your song 

Until it seems to come 
From the hearts of men who long 

For youth again and home; 
Men grown weary of the quest, 

Whose truest feelings stir 
At the thought of home and rest, 

And the soft, sweet voice of her; 
Bid them back by charms untold, 

And home again, to smother 
Earthly troubles, as of old, 

In the shielding arms of mother! 



[43] 



THE MISSING BOYS 

What's become of all them boys, the boys I used 

to know 
Before they laid the town lots out an' young 'uns 

used to go 
Where Fun and Fancy beckoned them, by paths 

that led away 
Through open fields and pasture lands that's 

folkses' yards to-day! — 
By old cowpaths that led away through lazy days 

an' sweet, 
An' ended in the maples' shade where young 'uns 

used to meet 
And bring the loot from pantry raids — the home- 
made bread an' jam — 
Then wash the stains of guilt away in Ezry Scoul- 

ler's dam. 

What's become of all them boys, the boys I used 

to know, 
That knowed the secrets of the woods an' knowed 

right where to go 

[44] 



To find the first arbutses an' dared the green- 
eyed peril 

To lay 'em on the altar of some other feller's girl? — 

They knowed where was the sweet-flag, where the 
bullheads bit the best, 

Where wild bees hid their summer stores an' 
where the hang-bird's nest 

Hung lower from the cottonwood — an' never used 
to stir 

The limb until her young was out — an* made a 
friend of her. 

What's become of all them boys? An' through 

my dreams I see 
The only one of all the lot that's gittin' old is me! 
The rest go trompin' 'cross my sight an' driftin' 

through my mind 
As blithely as they used to do before I got so blind! 
It's just a trick of Memory, a riddle of the years, 
An' still it sets me waverin' 'twixt covet'ness an' 

tears! 
I reckon that the saddest words is askin', soft an' 

low, 
"Now what's become of all them boys, the boys 

1 used to know?" 

[45] 



WHEN THE STAGE CAME IN 

When the stage came in! When the stage came 

in! 
With its rumble and rattle and jangle and din, 
From out of the East it careened into town. 
Nor all of the dust stains that coated it brown 
Could cover the shimmer of red and of gold 
That flamed from its side like a chariot of old. 
Ho! life and its living fair seemed to begin 
When the stage came in! 

When the stage came in! When the stage came 

in! 
The villagers greeted their kith and their kin; 
The strangers climbed down from their perches 

to stretch 
Their limbs, and the youngsters competed to fetch 
A gourd of water to that one or this — 
A wearied old man or a blossom-cheeked miss, 
Wonderful people, in mem'ry they seem, 
Who came from afar in the city of dream! 
[46] 



What an occasion new friendships to win, 
When the stage came in! 

When the stage came in! When the stage came 

in! 
The mail-boot was opened and friends who had 

been 
Forgotten for long, whispered messages fraught 
With love through the lines that the stage-driver 

brought; 
A travel-stained letter from "kin in the West," 
A letter, tear-stained, of a friend gone to rest, 
A love note, a worry, a smile, and a care 
All came from afar to the villagers there — 
Oh, what a testing of hearts there has been 
When the stage came in! 

When the stage went on! When the stage went 

on! 
And rolled out of sight on the pike and was 

gone, 
The village turned back to its simpler ways, 
Its twilights and gloamings and somnolent days, 
Its comings and goings and plain "howdy-do's," 
Its sorrows and joys and its country-side news; 
[47] 



And dreamed of the wonders and riches and fame 
Off there in the East whence the stage always 

came; 
Oh, life and the best of its living was gone 
When the stage went on! 



[43] 



A COMMON FELLER 

May the folks that pine for riches, 

As the sayin' is, succeed; 
Here's a common feller's wishes 

That they gather all they need. 
May the Lord see fit to prosper 

From the boundless store o' His — 
Give 'em wealth and things a-plenty 

If that's what their ruthers is. 

But for me, my taste is simple — 

Jist a humble home will be 
The thing, with flowers round it, 

Sort o' sharin' things with me; 
Not too big a house, but prob'ly 

Story and a half, an' jis' 
Filled with love until it bulges — 

Jist about the size o' this! 

Then I'd fill it up with children, 
Every breed the doctor's got — 

Bow-leg boys an' girls red-headed, 
Tongue-tied too, as like as not! 

[49] 



Not too full of fun an* mischief, 
Nor so good they're overpowerin', 

But the kind that's which-an'-t'other, 
Jist about the likes o' ourn! 

Then I'd have to have a pardner 

Who could sort o' mother them — 
Who could patch their duds an' sew 'em, 

Stitchin' love in every hem; 
One of them there sort o' wimin 

Heaven meant to see us through — 
One who's extraordinary, 

Jist about the likes o' you! 

May the folks that pine for riches, 

As the sayin' is, succeed; 
Here's a common feller's wishes 

That they gather all they need. 
'Tain't for me to tell 'em how they're 

Overlookin' happinuss, 
But the richest folks is people 

Jist about the size of us! 



[50] 



THE ARMY OF DAWN 

The Army of Dawn, it treads the city street 
All robed in gray, and with the victory won 

Of yesterday, it lightens leaden feet 

And quickens them to meet the rising sun — 

To greet the day and all the veiled events 
Concealed from those who face the world at 
dawn — 

The tearful woes, and, too, the sweet contents 
The day may bring before the light is gone. 

The Army of Dawn, it straggles from the fight 
A battle won and honor safe with men, 

To bivouac when weariness and night 

Come on apace and starlight shines again. 



[5i1 



NOVEMBER! 

First it rains and then it snows, 

That's November! 
Then some slush, an' so it goes 

Through November! 
The first you know the sun 'II shine 
For jist a spell, then go behin' 
A dad-burned cloud! A mortal's heart 

Will drop 'bout twenty-six below, 
Then, sudden-like, it gits a start 
An' shines again before you know — 

That's November! 



Eaves a-drippin' all day long — 

That's November! 
Alius seems there's somethin' wrong 

In November! 
Plumb out o' livin, seems to me! — 
Laughs an' tears alternately! 
[52] 



It 'pears to me, as I observe, 

It's on the line 'twixt hay an' grass- 

A leetle soon for canned persarve, 
An' jist too late for garden sass! — 
That's November! 



[S3l 



GRANDPA'S REJUVENATION 

I guess my gran'pa's oldest man 
There ever was or ever can 
Be ennywheres, with whiskers that 
His breff freezed in when Winter's at; 
An' he's got hair that's long an' white 
'Cept on the top — that's shiny bright 
Where our hairs is that we comb back — 
An' he so old he's ist lost track! 

An' 'isterday, my muver say, 

Was gran'pa's an-ni-ver-ser-ay 

Of war-times when the army was, 

An' that's long time ago, because 

It's long before he ever see 

Or ever heard of ma an' me, 

Or knowed our names was same as that— 

Or where our folks was livin' at. 

An' 'isterday he went up-stair 
An' hollered down to muver, "Where 
[54] 



Is them ol' army traps of mine 
That I brung home?" an' then he fin' 
His ol' blue hat an' roundabout 
That left his stummick stickin' out 
An' wouldn't go around him, 'cause 
He's fatter 'n when the army was. 

An' when he gits 'em on he ist 
Ack drefFul-like, an' only missed 
Ma's lookin'-glass by ist a hair, 
An' swung his cane around him there! 
Then he-says-he, "Now there, my son, 
That's how I looked in 'sixty-one!" 
An' funniest thing I saw, fer shore, 
That gran'pa wasn't old no more! 



55 



THE THREE FAVORS 

There's three things in life that I've alius said 
There's nuthin' one arth that kin beat 'em — 

The two first are slices of home-made bread, 
An' the third is the stummick t' eat 'em! 



[56 



THE MAN FROM THE HILLS 

Tall, gaunt, stooped with the weight of toil, 
Eyes made sharp by the mountain distances, 

Hands gnarled, stained with the virgin soil, 
Instincts keen to the new-world mysteries — 

Thus he comes from his mountain wildness hence, 

Down the trail to the lowland settlements. 

Fear, dread, stamped on his rugged face, 
Timid quite, as his wildest fancies strike — 

He — there — in the crowded market-place, 
Mingling there with the creatures so unlike! 

Oft he stops and his dread nigh drives him back 

Back up there by the mountain's friendly track. 

Mute, lone, back from the crowd he stands, 
Back from where the glib-tongued trader plies. 

Throngs pass, gaze at his knotted hands, 

Homespun clothes, and look in his longing eyes — 

Jest, perhaps, and he winces, dreading this 

More than feuds or the mountain adder's hiss! 
[57] 



Cold, dark, out of the East comes night, 

Starlight guides the hills man through the 
gloom — 

Up — on — climbing with all his might, 

Back again to God's high-ceilinged room; 

Now he smiles and his happy being thrills — 

Home again, with the men who tame the hills! 



58 



HEART SHRINES 

The city streets, with its smiles and tears, 

The quickened steps and the lagging, slow; 
The touch of youth and the touch of years, 

And countless things that we cannot know! 
The saddest face of them all may hide 

The sweetest smile and a world of cheer — 
The brightest face in the human tide 

May yield a sigh or a bitter tear 
For a far-off spot where the grasses wave 
Tremulous o'er a loved one's grave. 

The weakest heart of them all, and frail, 

May hold the strongest to faith and hope; 
The stoutest heart of them all may fail, 

Too full of sorrow and tears to cope 
With life's grim test. Though they give the 
smiles, 

Not all of the smiles they grant are true — 
Too many dream of the Afterwhiles 

And the meetings there, if we only knew — 
159] 



If we knew, the happiest hearts repine 
And lay their love at a far-off shrine. 

The city streets, with its smiles and tears! 

We never know, as we pass them by, 
The saddening doubt and the present fears 

That pride conceals where the masses ply; 
'Tis best to stand where the eddies move, 

And take it all for the sum it's worth — 
Believe all the love is an actual love, 

And all the laughter is honest mirth, 
Though laughter covers, as like as not, 
A sorrow shrined in a far-off spot. 



[60] 



THE LITTLE LACE LADY 

The little lace lady lives over the way, 
An' ever' day watches us children at play, 
An' sometimes she says to us won't we come in 
To get some brown cookies fresh out of the tin 
That she's been a-bakin' from? Then we say 

yes, 
An' eat purty nigh the hull bakin', I guess, 
'Til she puts 'em up 'cause she says she don't 

know 
Our mothers would thank her for temptin' us so. 

The little lace lady that's over the way 
Has little bits wrinkles an' hair's turnin' gray 
Like grandmother's is, an' the lady can't 'splain 
'Cept "mebbe her life has been too full o' rain," 
An' now that it's over the best of her joys 
Is bakin' brown cookies for wee girls an' boys. 
An' the best of her pleasures is takin' her walks 
'Mongst "posies she loved," which was roses an' 
hocks. 

[61] 



An' once when I vis-i-ted her all alone 
She dressed me all up in some things of her own — 
Some little red shoes with tassels on, too, 
An* little flounce frock, with a hat made o' blue 
With trimmin' stuff on, an' the lace lady cries, 
An' hugged me an' telled me to not be surpris' 
At her on account of what memory brings — 
An' telled me "how purty I looked in her things." 



[62] 



THE MIDDLE ONE 

I hold that children, by an' large, 

Whatever be their breed or brand, 
Are just about the finest crops 

For any sort of thrivin' land; 
I like 'em all! — the yellin' kind 

Or quiet little fellers — shoo! 
There's nothin' that's more lovable 

Than a young 'un — 'less it's two! 
I 'lectioneer for all of 'em 

The same as what I've alius done, 
But when occasions come for me 
To mebbe show partiality 

I'm alius for the middle one! 

The oldest in the fambly, she 
Is natcherly the joy an' pride — 

The youngest — bein' baby — well, 
He's alius special glorified; 

But round behind the pantry door 
Or down in underneath the bed, 
[63} 



A body's alius apt to find 

Another little tousle-head 
That's alius playin' by hisself 

An' kind o' peggin' on alone, 
'Cept mebbe, when there's company, maw 
Shows off the rest an' then says, "Law! 

Now where on earth's that middle one?" 

The middle one! His loneliness 

Just waters from them eyes o' his; 
He never has no toys except 

"The leavin's," as the sayin' is; 
The doll the oldest used to have, 

Or things the baby's tired of — 
There ain't a single thing on earth 

But second-handed things to love! 
There's times I watch the little tyke, 

My wizzen swells an' eyes grow dim — 
It seems to me that all outdoor 
Knows 'zackly what he's longin' for, 

An' tries to be a friend to him! 

Donblame their pictures, anyhow! 

How lonesome-like an' sweet they be — 
[64] 



They seem to be the special charge 

Of fellers 'bout the size o' me! — 
Old fellers who 'ain't got a thing 

For tinkerin' or thinkin' of, 
'Cept traipsin' up an' down the world 

An' look for unloved things to love! 
I wish I had the "middle ones." 

I swan, I'd snatch 'em hide an' hem 
An' take 'em to the fields an' nooks 
That's in the oldest's picture-books, 

An' waste my share of love on them! 



65 



"HOW'S THE FAMBLY?" 

"How's the fambly?" Heered him say 
Them cheerin' words jist that-a-way 
A dozen times a day, or more, 
Jist like we hadn't met before; 
Meant it, too, as much at last 
As what he did when first he ast; 
It seemed a part of every day 
A-hearin' Abel Martin say, 
"How's the fambly?" 



Ab's idee of fambly meant 
About the hull durned regiment, 
Settin' hens an' all, an* when 
He'd ast about 'em, seemed that then 
Somethin' touched me that-a-way 
That I couldn't help but say, 
"They're all well, an' 'bleeged to you 
For astin' 'bout the family, too — 
How's your fambly?" 
[661 



"How's the fambly?" Lawsey me! 
How hullsomelike that used to be 
'Fore he got his second stroke, 
An' got so bad that when he spoke 
He couldn't make a word or sound, 
Only twitch his lips around! 
Yit we knowed that first an' last 
The good old soul was tryin' to ast, 
"How's the fambly?" 

"How's the fambly?" Now, I swan, 
We miss it lots since he's been gone!- 
It seems there's jist a bit of cheer 
We used to like that's missin' here. 
Words we didn't 'predate 
An' never will until the Gate 
Opens There some blessed day 
An' Ab's a-waitin' there to say, 
"How's the fambly?" 



67 



THE HIRED MAN SAYS: 

A dad-burned hen that wants t' set — 

Now there's the blamedest fool thing yet! 

She'll set on nails or Chiny eggs 

Or vegetables, or wrap her legs 

Around door-knobs, or ennything 

A man puts under her, I jing! 

An' there she'll set from morn 'til night 

Without a-lookin' left or right, 

An' do the work — in spite o' you! — 

The Lord cut out for her t' do! 

Jist minds her business — eyes t' front! — 

Like me an' you an' others won't! 

She ain't no hand for circus shows 

Nor sheriff sales, where mortals goes 

An' shirk their work! She stays behind 

With only one idee in mind: 

T' save her brood from hawks, or pup, 

An' fin'lly raise her fambly up, 

An' raise 'em like they'd orter be!— 

A fine example, 'pears t' me! 



THE CHILDHEARTS 

The childhearts! Where are they to be? 
Around the fields, or underneath a tree 
In orchard lands, that blossom white as snow? 
Do we find the childhearts there? 
Oh no, no! 

In rosied ways that lead to meadows fair. 
In woodlands green or yellow as their hair — 
Where streams smile back and sing them soft and 

low — 
Do we find the childhearts there? 
Oh no, no! 

Afar, perhaps, some shrine of Childhood is, 
Beyond the hills and Summer's boundaries — 
In Youth's playspots where sumachs flame and 

glow? 
Do we find the childhearts there? 
Oh no, no! 
[69] 



Or yet, at home, where all about are hints 
That Youth is here — the telltale fingerprints, 
The toys mislaid and scattered to and fro — 
Do we find the childhearts there? 
Oh no, no! 

We seek in vain, for Youth is much a sage, 
And Age is Youth, and Youth, alas, is Age! — 
The heart of youth, Youth can but seldom show! 
We don't find the childhearts there! 
Oh no, no! 

The cl ildhearts beat within the breasts of men 
Who've journeyed far and then turned back again 
With thankfulness, to live in Childhood's spell! 
So we find the childhearts here. 

Well! Well! Well! 



70 



THE MIGRATORY FRIEND 

Howdy, Mister Blackbird — howdy, an' good-by! 

From your fuss I take it that you're fixin' up to 
fly- 

Plumin' up your feathers an' your wings are work- 
in' prime — 

Goin' to flutter Southwards where it's Summer all 
the time. 

Frost was out this mornin' an' it seared the mead- 
ows brown — 

Barefoot young 'uns warmed their feet where cows 
was layin' down; 

Fall is sure a-comin' — I can sort o' feel it, 'cause 

Boys an' birds ain't chipper ner as sassy as they 
was! 

Hear the axes ringin' an' the joltin' of the load, 
Bringin' heaps of cordwood down the corduroy 
road, 

[7i] 



Cordwood cut to measure you can pile up heapin' 

high 
In the kitchen fireplace when the snow begins to 

fly. 

Days are gittin' shorter an' I 'low 'fore very long 
Weather 'II be so frosty it would freeze a Baptist 

song! 
Then till March or April there'll be nothin' much 

to do 
'Cept to set an' listen to the wind's eternal 

"Wh-o-o-o— " 

Good-by, Mister Blackbird, an' I hope you'll like 

it prime 
When you're flittin' Southward where there ain't 

no Winter-time, 
Where it's alius Summer an' as smilin' as the sky — 
Lordy, Mister Blackbird, how I wish that I could 

fly! 



72] 



WHEN YOUTH WAS HERE 

Youth was here but yesterday and romped this 

sunny slope, 
It filled the air with wholesome cheer and filled 

our hearts with hope; 
It worked its magic on the trees, the meadow- 
lands and brooks, 
And put the touch of mystery on woodland brakes 

and nooks, 
It peopled yonder smiling sky with boyish faces 

bright, 
And gave to each familiar thing a new and sweet 

delight; 
It made the world a perfect world to wander in 

and play, 
And so it stays, for happy Youth was here but 

yesterday. 

Youth was here but yesterday ! To yonder little run 
It gave a silvery song to sing whilst flashing in 
the sun; 

[73] 



It touched the fields where grasses wave and clovei 

blooms so sweet, 
And made them pleasant to the tread of unshod 

boyish feet; 
It gave the skies the art to smile, the birds their 

song to sing, 
And each and all to harmonize with every smiling 

thing, 
In turn to chord with singing hearts of boys and 

girls at play — 
All this it did when happy Youth was here but 

yesterday. 

Youth was here but yesterday and, coming to 

depart, 
It left the boon of Memory to ever aging 

heart — 
It left the art of calling back the Summer paths 

and ways, 
Familiar spots and faces, too, and friends of other 

days — 
The meadowland, the winding road, the valley, 

and the hill, 
And places in the happy past where fancies linger 

still; 

[74] 



But, best of all, to hosts of men whom Time has 

touched with gray, 
It left the thought that happy Youth was here 

but yesterday. 



[75l 



THE VAGRANT BLESSINGS 

Where is the laughter that's lost in the world? 

And where is the parentless song? 
Where is the cheer that the optimists here 

Have spread in the wandering throng? 
Where is the kindness that people have loosed? 

And where are the love and the care? 
Where are the seeds of the kindlier deeds 

That people have scattered here? Where? 

Laughter found lodgment where great was the 

need, 
And Love found a home with the lone; 

Cheer is the guest of the poor and distressed, 
And Care where it never was known; 

Goodness has mellowed the hardest of hearts, 
And kindness has tempered the woe — 

Sorrow and trials have blossomed in smiles 
And Life is the sweeter, we know! 



[76 



THE CHRONICLES OF A YOUNG 'UN 

My Uncle William, he come 'way 

From York State here! He's gonna stay 

With pa an' ma an' me a spell, 

'Til his pneumogastric nerve gits well. 

He's all shot up, he says, an' just 

Has reached the point his stomach must 

Have rest an' ease until it sorter 

Can do the work a stomach orter. 

My Uncle William, he's ist rich 
As all git out, an' he's got sich 
A lot of comforts — motor-car 
An' everything on earth they are 
To make a man content, an' yit 
He ist can't seem to 'bide by it! — 
He travels 'round like crazy feller 
An' ist gits sick a-gittin' weller! 

An' yesterday, when mother she 
Was bakin' an' she called to me 

[77] 



An' told me if I ist set down 
My pie-crust patty '11 soon be brown, 
My uncle ist don't say a word 
'Til bimeby he say: "Good Lord! 
I wonder what I'd give if I just 
Dast to eat a hunk of pie crust!" 



[78] 



WHEN THE DRUMS GO BY 

When the drums go by! With their rat-a-tat-tat, 
They tell the tale that the blood leaps at! 
They mirror the picture of war's alarm, 
With all the spectacular, savage charm; 
Each sob is an echo that breeds a thrill, 
A whisper from Shiloh or Malvern Hill; 
A word from the ages that yours and mine — 
Our fathers — were part of the thin blue line, 

And hearts beat high 

When the drums go by! 

When the drums go by! When each muffled head 
Is throbbing the march of the soldier dead, 
And there in the lead, in the place he earned, 
His riderless horse with the stirrups turned; 
'Tis then we know of the price he paid, 
And all the glamour and glitter fade; 
The drums mourn deep at the awful cost, 
And beat the roll of the soldiers lost, 

And brave hearts sigh 

When the drums go by! 
[79] 



THE BETTER SELF 

Out 'neath the starry heavens, my Other Self 
and I, 

We sit by the stream 

And we muse and dream 
While Yesterday's things go by — 
The pleas and woes and the cries of fear 
We should have heard but we did not hear — 
The calls for help that we did not heed 
In all our hurry and rush and greed, 
Before us now they go drifting by — 
My Other Self turns a chiding eye! 



"These are the things you failed in," says my 
Other Self to me: 

"The cries of need 
That you did not heed, 
The suffering you would not see, 
The woe and tears and the calls for aid, 
The weak appeals of the ones afraid, 
[Sol 



The cries of pain and distress unheard, 
You might have helped with a friendly word, 
Yet did not help!" And I bow and sigh 
As Yesterday's poor mistakes go by. 

Out 'neath the starry heavens, alone on the silent 
earth, 

With no one nigh, 

Myself and I 
May study each other's worth, 
And each may know, as we drift along, 
How one is weak and the other strong! 
Ah, oft I've wished that it might have been 
That he might live in the world of men 
Instead of me, and I often sigh 
And wish that my Other Self were I! 



[81] 



PAN AT LARGE 

They taught me that Pan was the shyest of 
creatures, 
Who lived in the shadows with wood-nymphs and 
elves, 
And tuned up his pipes when the fairy clans 
gathered 
To sing and make merry and dance by themselves; 
They said that his songs were the rarest of 
classics, 
And boys must be cautious for, when he would 
play, 
A step in the brush or a twig sharply broken 
Would cause him to stop and would drive him 
away. 

Perhaps it was true when they told me the story, 

For then there were fairies and Youth wore a 

c rown, 

But now I am certain that Pan has turned rover, 

And, truant-like, answers the call of the town; 

[82] 



I saw him but yesterday, happy and ragged, 
And smiling as bright as the sunshine at noon — 

He flashed 'cross my path — was gone! — and he 
whistled 
His way to my heart with a popular tune. 

His face was of Youth, his laugh was of silver, 

He whistled the street full of music and glee — 
His jacket and trousers were ragged and tattered, 

As ever a truant's would naturally be. 
Ah, some will declare, 'tis the veriest fancy 

That Pan has forsaken the woodlands so soon, 
But Pan, I declare, is abroad in the city 

And coaxing its smiles with a popular tune! 



83 



AN OLD MAN ON CIRCUS DAY 

I'm a sort of a queer old man, 
Built on sort of a common plan 
Time adopts when it starts to mold 
Folks into shapes that it labels "Old." 
Got the tisick, an' full of pains 
That's peculiar to Summer rains, 
Weather shifts and the frosts and snows- 
Jist depends how the weather goes; 
Sort o' wanderin' 'roundabout, 
One foot in an' the tother out — ■ 
Tired of life, yet a-hangin' on, 
Tooth and nail, with a soft "Doggone!" 



Don't suppose you can picture me 
Omamentin' frivolity! 
Yet, whenever the circus comes 
Bangin' along with its mellow drums, 
Painted clowns and its floats of red 
Trailin' after the band ahead, 
[84) 



Seems to me that I step more spry, 
Chest throwed out an' my head more high! 
Somethin' in it that's playin' tricks 
On my tisick an' roomatics, 
Like enough, an' I seem to be 
Cured up to a t — y — tee! 

'"Most too old," as my daughter sez; 
Mebbe plasters some poultices 
'Cross my innards an' gives me tea, 
'Count of the circus affectin' me; 
She'd discourage a pore old man's 
Pleasure a-makin' his circus plans 
If she could; but there lingers yet 
Circus dreams that I can't forget — 
Painted clowns an' the riders bold, 
Coaxin' me through the dreams of old, 
'Til if all of my plans work fair, 
Look around an' you'll find me therel 



[8 5 ] 



A BOY'S SUMMER 

A boy's Summer! Can't you see 
Them hallowed spots of memory? — 
The old mill-race, with sun ashine 
Betwixt its banks of velvet fine? — 
The hilltops green, and over yon 
The woods that beckon — coax — y' on 
To be a young 'un, free and wild 
As any wanderin' story child? 

A boy's Summer, gold and blest, 
A fish-pole where it's handiest, 
A dam across the medder streams, 
A top, a spool, contraption schemes — 
A pathway to the "hi-hole's" perch — 
A whistle made of silver birch 
For Pan to pipe the roundelays 
That sing of boyhood's Summer days! 

A boy's Summer! See that sign — 
Or ain't your eyes as good as mine? — 

[861 




• r^-fF-vA.H-v 



"where boys can swim in birthday clothes!" 



Tzvo fingers up, that overtop 

The pennyrile an' jimson crop, 

An' tempt some young 'un 'til he must 

Go traipsin' off through dimpled dust 

Of paths that only young 'uns knows, 

Where boys can swim in birthday clothes! 

A boy's Summer! God above, 
I know what You're thinkin' of! 
For us that's old an' growin' white, 
An' failin* in our sense an' sight, 
You fashion golden days like these 
So's't we can set beneath the trees 
An', lookin' yonder through the haze, 
Kin dream of boyhood's Summer days. 



87] 



WHEN THE BABY'S GONE AWAY 

When he's playin' 'round me here he's jist so dad- 
burned small 
I scarcely ever notice him or see the tyke at all! — 
When Retty scrubs an' dresses him an' sends him 

off to play, 
He gathers up his playin' tools an' takes hisself 

away 
Behind the house or down the road, an' there he 

stays for hours, 
An', 'count of size, it's purty hard to tell him from 

the flowers. 
The way he hides amongst 'em an' goes traipsin' 

through the bloom — 
In all the world he seems to take a mighty little 

room! 

He's only two, a-tumin' three — no bigger than a 

pint! — 
He couldn't tiptoe, seems to me, above the second 

j'int 



Of that 'ere fence! An' when he goes through 

swing-gate, over there, 
The roses on that droopin' bush jist barely brush 

his hair; 
He's jist a little speck o' pink, a sort of rovin' kind 
That hides amongst the flowers an' he's 'most too 

small to find; 
Amongst the heap of other things that bother men 

like me 
I guess I'd got the habit overlookin' him, y' see. 

But now he's gone a-visitin', I tell y' what it's still ! — 
The robins chirp more softly an' the dad-burned 

whip-per-will 
Is mournfuler than common, an' along the edge 

o' night 
There's somethin' seems to bubble up an' clog my 

wizzen tight! — 
The sunset sort o' dodges me an' gives away to 

gloom — 
It seems to me there's nothin' else in all the world 

but room! 
An' judgin' from the void he's left around this 

lonesome place, 
That little bit o' feller fills an awful lot o' space. 
[89] 



IN THE FEUDIST'S HOME 

Snuff yon candle! Whilse we's fightin' 

We-all got t' keep from sight! — 
Jes' cayn't be no candle-lightin' 

In this cabin after night! 
Lindy, sizz a scrap o' bacon — 

Mind yo thah's no smokin', hun, 
From the embers: we-all's takin' 

Chances 'twell this feudin's done! 

Spell ago I heerd a smashin' 

Mighty like a pusson's boot, 
Down in yender hick'ry slashin' — 

Felt a-mighty like I'd shoot! 
Saved my lead an' climbed the risin', 

Looked a mile off, mighty nigh, 
Saw the varmints Iookin' pizen — 

Put that rifle handy by! 

Childurn, gether 'round, an' mind y' 

What yo' pappy's gwine t' say, 

[90] 



So's't the feudin' folks cayn't find y'- 
Heah that cowbell dongin 'way 

Yender on the Little Bitter? 
Wonder what it's all erbout? 

Reckin that's a two-leg critter 
Tryin £ toll y' pappy out! 



9i] 



THE ORCHARD SEAT 

Here we used to sit day in and out, 

Sun high an' low, an' sort o' speckylate 
On what we'd do when he got well an' stout — 

Me heartbroke, 'most, an' him content to wait 
Long, sufferin' days an' endless restless nights! 

Whilst mother's faith an' mine was growin' dim, 
Not all the stars in heaven glowed as bright's 

The hope within the wee, small heart of him! 



Here we set an' made our promises; 

When he got well! Why, I remember yit 
How he smiled an' how them eyes o' his 

Jist fairly brimmed at every thought of it! 
'Greed we'd fish, we did, an' made a vow 

An' took our oath on the blossoms Summer 
fetched, 
Some time we would go an' show 'em how 
To ketch "Old Sly" that never had been 
ketched. 

[92] 



Here we set, an' sometimes more in glee 

Than tears, perhaps, when he would square off 
— so — 
Roll up his sleeves an' show his muscle. "Me? 

You don't know me? I'm in the circus show!" 
Then in tears; when evenin' light growed dim 

He'd snuggle down; with childish faith he'd tell 
The pityin' stars that twinkled down at him: 

"Tell Mister God to make me strong an' well." 

Here we set! Now Springtime's come ag'in, 

With love an' bloom an' same blue skies above, 
Drowsy days with golden sunshine in, 

An' everything that us two used to love — 
Everything is jist the same excep' 

I miss his face an' miss his trustin' hand, 
Mourn his love, his promises unkep', 

An' sometimes think God did not understand. 



[93 



THE HORSE-TRADER'S PRAYER 

Thou who guards the sparrow's wings, 
Of course, I don't perpose 

To take no hand in runnin' things 
Whichever way it goes — 

1 take whatever Fortune brings 
An' thankful, Lordy knows! 

I know Thou fashion an' devise 
All things both great an' small, 

An' cast the motes from others' eyes, 
An' mark the sparrow's fall; 

I know that Thou are great an' wise, 
The wisest of 'em all. 

I know that when the thunders crash, 

Thou rulest up on High — 
I know that when the lightnin's flash 

Thou knowest when an' why, 
An' when the cyclones swish an' lash 

That Thou are standin' nigh. 
[94] 



I know Thou are forgivin', too, 

Of errors first an' last; 
An' now I meekly ast that You 

Fergive my errin' past; 
An', since I'm startin' fresh an' new, 

There's somethin' else I'd ast. 

To-morrow mornin' when I try 
To trade with Hiram Nissen, 

You only do Your part an' I 
Will do my part a-whizzin' — 

Jist cast the mote from out my eye 
An' leave the mote in hisn! 



[95 



THE DREAMER 

Humor the dreamer his many moods, 
His far, lone quests in the silent woods, 
Dreams, perchance, where the blossoms are 
Or his silent love for an early star. 

Humor the dreamer who steals away 
To some far spot where his fancies play, 
Roaming back in the evening's gloam 
Through dewy fields by the long road home. 

Humor the dreamer who stops awhile 
Where Summer-time and her blossoms smile 
Friendly-like, and he stays alone 
While life and the workaday world roll on. 

Bear with him if he seems to see 
The little things by the way that we 
See, perhaps, but we never guess 
Their humble part in our happiness. 
[96] 



Bear with him and his dreams! Ere long 
He'll share his dream in a poet's song — 
Happy song of the days grown dim — 
And he shall smile and you'll smile with him. 



[97] 



AN OLD MAN'S HOPE 

She was so patient and sweet and glad 
In the old, old days when the world was sad — 
So hopeful-like with a word of cheer 
That eased the path of our journey here; 
A word of faith and a word of trust 
That God and all of His ways were just, 
And strengthened me when she used to say 
That everything would be well — some day. 

She was so trustin', an' seemed to me 

To see so much that I couldn't see — 

An' most men can't, or they wont, because 

They don't perceive like a woman does — 

The endless blessin's our troubles hid 

Would strengthen her faith an' her trust instid 

Of shakin' 'em, 'til she used to say 

She knowed it would all be well — some day. 

She was so gentle an' kind an' good — 
Perhaps I never have understood 

[98] 



How good she was, 'til she'd passed and gone 
And left me alone, and to wander on 
Without her cheer or her hand to guide — 
Without the faith that she used to bide — 
A helpless soul in the world of care 
Yit trustin' still that she's waitin' There. 



99l 



CHUMS 

If I should die to-night there still would be 
One favor left — one pleasure left to me, 
And that to come from out my narrow cell 
In spirit form and see and wish you well — 
To stand beside and hear you jest and quip, 
And feel again your wholesome fellowship — 
To see your smiles and know your heart's re- 
joice, 
And hear your songs and raise my silent voice. 

If you should die to-night what would there be 
Of fellowship and happiness for me? — ■ 
Except, perhaps, to sit alone and stare 
Across the board and see your vacant chair, 
And, in the smoke, to see your kindly face, 
Or hear your cheer resounding through the 

space 
Of Memory, and, while my fancies stir, 
To dream alone of happy times that were! 

[ 100] 



If some must go and some must stay behind — 
If Fate must cleave the friendly ties that bind — 
How better far that Death should beckon on, 
Than Life should last with love and friendship 
gone! 



[ioi] 



THE LITTLE MAN IN THE WHEEL-CHAIR 

The little old man in the old wheel-chair 
Who sat all day in the sunshine there, 

With nothing to do 

The whole day through 
But hark to the sounds from the noisy street, 
And measure the cadence of passing feet, 
Or dream, perchance, of the happy day 
When he was as strong and as straight as they. 



The little old man with the shriveled limb, 
The palsied hand and the eyes grown dim, 

And back bent twain 

With his years of pain, 
Who sat and pondered and wondered why 
He differed so from the passers-by, 
'Til wonder ceased and he answered then 
That "God knows best" and was glad again. 
The little old man in the old wheel-chair, 
Who sat all day in the sunshine there, 
[ 102] 



And idled away 

The livelong day, 
With nothing to do 'til his deathrobe furled 
But hark to the noises of a querulous world — 
Grumble, complaint, and the discontent 
Of health-blessed people who came and went. 

The words of anger and greed beside, 
The wail of others dissatisfied — 

The idler's curse, 

And even worse! 
And once he smiled when a strong man said 
That Fate stalked him with relentless tread! 

And often, since, have I wondered what 
The little old man in the wheel-chair thought! 



[103] 



A PEDDLER OF CHEER 

He hummed a snatch of an army song 
He used to know, and it passed along 
To the never-do-well in the village square, 
Who pursed his lips on the catchin' air 
And whistled it far to the tinshop door — 
A man who never had sung before! 
He raised his mallet an' paused again, 
An' called the words of the old refrain 
He used to know, an' he sung — an sung! — 
'Til all of his pots an' his kettles rung 
In harmony, an' the smith said, "Whew! 
Now what on earth are we comin' to 
When he cuts loose!" an' he blowed his fire 
An', raisin' the pitch up high an' higher, 
He sung with all of his lusty might, 
Though neither the words nor the tune was right! 
The merchant passed an' he caught the tune 
And took it home for his wife to croon 
Whilst cookin' over the stove — as hot 
As Tophet! — an' cheered her, as like as not! 
[ 104] 



It drifted out of the door, it did, 

An' fell on the ears of an invalid 

That longed for it, an' I believe it done 

More good than Pillboxes' medicun! 

The bus-driver harked to the Iiltin', sweet 

Refrain an' peddled it down the street, 

'Til every one whistled it, old an' young, 

An' them as couldn't to whistle it sung! 

It seemed that the leaves in the maples stirred, 

An' even the storekeeper's kitten purred! 

In yender field where the furrows turned 

Their humped backs up to the sun that burned, 

The feller who'd started the army tune 

Set down to eat in the heat of noon; 

He thought of his work an' his heapin' woes, 

An' faulted Providence, I suppose — 

Like most men do! — 'til he heard that song 

A naybor sung as he passed along; 

"But look," he said, with a happy grin, 

"What a world of song we are livin' in!" 



105 



A COUNTRY SHOWER 

A cloud in the West no bigger 'n your hand, 

A stir in the murky air 
That only the maples can understand, 

Yit all of the world kin share. 

A ripple of breeze through the standin' grain, 

Then quiet an' wave ag'in, 
A warnin' from There of the comin' rain 

An' biddin' the field-hands in. 

The cluckin' of ginnies an' clackin' of hens 

AH squawkin' with real consarn, 
An' leggin' it off" for their coops and pens, 

Or shelter under the barn. 

A patter of rain in the maple-trees, 

A-splatterin' down the road, 
A touch on the head from as coolin' a breeze 

As ever a mortal knowed. 
f 106I 



An' then a flood from the heavens hurled 
That drizzles tolerable smart, 

An' washes the face of a dusty world 
An' the hate from a feller's heart. 



107] 



AT THE VILLAGE STORE 

There ain't nothin' East or West, 
North or South that I detest — 
'Bominate! — like tryin' to rag 
Other folkes' claims an' brag! 

Some folks brag of this an' that, 
The State where chances borned 'em at, 
Town or city — county-seat — 
Braggin' that it can't be beat! 

Lots of folks, as like as not, 
Brag the children that they've got — 
Generally pull in their line 
When I start to tell of mine! 

Other people stoop so low 
That they'll talk an' stew an' blow 
Half the night, a-braggin' up 
Some old lop-yeared, mangy pup! 
f 108I 



When I hear such braggin' I 

Jist set quiet-like, 'til my 

Chance to have my say comes 'round, 

An' tell 'em 'bout my rabbit-hound! 

Scent? I tell you what, it's keen! 
Fact is, no one ever seen 
No dog with a scent that is 
Keen — nor half as keen — as his! 

He's run all the rabbits out 
Through the county hereabout 
'Til they've mostly learned to swim 
Jist to dodge the scent of him. 

When I git 'em good an' downed 
"There's a hound as is a hound," 
I-say-I, an' generally 
They've got sense enough to 'gree. 

Generally folks strike a snag 
When they jist set out to brag! 

Thus the oracle declaimed, 
Nor by all the smiles was shamed. 
[109] 



THE BLIND VETERAN 

(Lincoln's Birthday) 

I thank you, friend, for helping me 
Across the street — 'twas very kind; 
'Tis hard for one whose eyes are blind 

To make his way alone, you see. 

Yes, blind for long — since sixty-two; 
When last these eyes shut out the day, 
They closed upon a line of gray 

Arrayed against a line of blue. 

And yet I'm sure 'twas for the best — 
I'm loyal to my leader's word; 
God spoke to him and Lincoln heard, 

And He directed all the rest. 

But, tell me, friend, since on you stay 
And pity my dark loneliness, 
What manner of a day is this 

To-day — our Lincoln's natal day? 
[no] 



The skies above are blue, I trust? — 
And tell me, does it seem to be 
A world of love and sympathy 

For all mankind? — 'twould be but just! 

Above us does the banner wave? 

The flag that stanched the crimson flood, 
That men anointed with their blood 

And Lincoln gave his life to save? 

And those who pass us on the way? 
Do they, in all their hurry, share 
Our sentiments, and seem to care 

That this is Lincoln's natal day? 

I thank you, friend — I'm in your debt — 
You've eased a blind man's troubled mind!— 
It's been so very good to find 

The nation's sons do not forget! 

You're young, I think? I fancied so! 

Why yours is like a woman's hand! 

I fear you cannot understand 
What Lincoln was — you cannot know! 

[in] 



A STAVIN' OLD FRIEND 

Bill Asher, you have always been a stavin' friend 

t* me, 
Your heart was true through dark an* gloom as 

in prosperity; 
An' now we're goin' down the hill, as mortals all 

must do, 
I want t' make y' understand I've 'predated you. 

When ma an' me an' fambly come a-packin' 

through from Pike, 
A-searchin' of God's footstool for a place that we 

could strike 
An' eddicate our childurn, as all parents orter do, 
Who was the first t' take our hand? Bill Asher, 

it was you. 

An' when the sullen clouds of war come growlin', 

rollin' on, 
An' cast a shadder over us by takin* off our 

John, V 

[112] 




Edwin -P- B*vha- >7 



he'd apologize, an' say, 'i can't on'y play by ear'" 



Who was it took our hand an' said that it was all 

for good? 
An' you had two boys at the front — I knowed you 

understood! 

An' when they brung our Johnny back, a note 

pinned on that said 
They'd found him in the rifle-pits so peaceful-like 

— an' dead — 
I recollect your comfortin', an' how you made us see 
That Johnny's death was glorious as mortal man's 

can be! 

An' when our little girl was borned, Bill Asher, it 
was you 

Who brightened up her pore, short life as no one 
else could do — 

I see y* now, your arms all full of sweet forget- 
me-not 

That made our little baby smile an' — Bill, I 'ain't 
forgot! 

An' then that Springtime mornin' when she wa'n't 

no more our care, 
The birds was chirpin' "Mairy," an' there wa'n't 

no Mairy there! 

[H3] 



Through tears I couldn't help but shed I saw your 

kindly smile, 
As you explained that God had only lent her for 

a while. 

An', now we're goin' down the hill, as mortals all 

must do, 
I want to make y' understand we've 'predated 

you; 
We've naybored here an' alius has our comfort 

been your care — 
You've spoke for us on earth, old friend; we'll 

speak for you Up There. 



[114] 



A GLIMPSE OF A FACE IN A SIDEWALK 
CROWD 

'Twas furrowed and seamed with the cares of life 

and white as with Autumn rime, 
And yet withal it was as young as Youth and 

fresh as the Summer-time; 
Its wrinkles gathered in sunny smiles at wiles of 

the painted clown, 
And laughed and laughed as the children laugh 

who gather in Circus Town. 

It cast the mask of the years aside as if they had 

never been, 
And something spoke of a merry heart and of 

Youth come back again — 
A boy's delight in the glittering show as the 

cavalcade passed on, 
And looked as sad as the children did when the 

calliope was gone! 



[115] 



AN EXPOSE AVERTED 

Once my father, he says: "What 

Possess boys nowadays 
Is more than I kin figger, but 

They're changed in heaps of ways 
From what they was! It seems t* me 

They're wilder, higher strung, 
And wiser than they used t' be 

In the days when I was young! 

"You don't s'pose, do you," says pa, 

"That us boys ever thought 
Of stayin' out until our ma 

Was purty nigh upsot, 
Like you boys do? Well, no, sir-e-e-e- 

We'd got our jackets wrung 
If we'd 'a' tried sich deviltry 

In the days when I was young! 

"We wa'n't gallivantin' 'round 
To find a 'hi-hole's' nest, 
[116I 



Nor wallerin' around the ground 

An' spoil our Sunday best 
To git a pewee's egg, or brood — 

We'd had our plans unstrung 
An' like enough got walloped good, 

In the days when I was young! 

"No, nor us boys never stole 

Behind our father's barn 
To smoke whipstock — nor swimmin'-hole 

To practise sayin' 'Darn!' 
Sich things was reperhensible, 

An' like enough they'd brung 
Disgrace on us — like sich things will — 

In the days when I was young!" 

Yes, an* once Doc Hansel come 

To stay all night with pa, 
An' he's my father's boyhood chum 

That lived next door; an', law! 
My father frowned! Then, I expect, 

Doc Hansel lost his tongue, 
'Cause all he said was: "Recollect 

When me an' you was young — ?" 

[117] 



FANCY, THE TRUANT 

The grassy slopes of Briar Hill where sweeter 

mem'ries linger still, 
Where Fancy, like a truant boy, roams aimlessly, 
and ever will, 
Through blossomed paths we can't forget — 
Through fields and meadows dewy-wet — 
To pause in boyish wonderment where squirrels 
chat and redbirds trill. 



The narrow, winding country road, the creaking 

of the passing load, 
The teamster's grufi^and hearty hail; how happily 
we climbed and rode 
On top the bags! In mem'ry still 
We go with grist to Martin's mill, 
Where greater wonders seemed to be than fairy- 
tales and fables showed. 
[118] 



So ponderous and so unreal! The rumble of the 

giant wheel, 
Where angry water overshot, then, pacified, it 
used to steal 
In snow-white floss across the "jam" — 
Across the "apern" of the dam — 
Then dance away 'cross the rifts as though it quite 
had planned the reel. 

The miller, prone to stride about, would purposely 

desert the spout 
So grimy boys could plunge their hands in golden 
corn-meal coming out; 
And, oh, the sense of deep regret 
That grown-up boys remember yet, 
When all was done, the grist was ground, and time 
had come to put about! 

Along the quiet road again a towhead boy might 

take the rein, 
A height of power man may crave, but never hope 
to quite attain! 
And yet — and yet — it seems to me 
The happiest moment seemed to be 
When old familiar landmarks spoke of mother, 
home, and rest again. 
[119] 



Whatever Life is holding still for our reward — or 

ever will — 
Position, wealth, or boundless fame — it scarce com- 
pares the happy thrill 
That comes from letting Fancy play 
A truant on a Summer's day, 
And go to mill with some one's grist and back 
again to Briar Hill! 



[120J 



THE APOLOGIST 

Wish you'd knowed ol' ToIIerses — 
Heerd him draw that bow o' his 
"'Cros't his fiddle-strings, I swan, 
When his "fiddlin' streak" was on! 
Expert? W-e-I-1, I reckin so! 
Fact is Tollers didn't know 
Jist how expert-like he was, 
Alius 'peared t' me, because 
When we'd ask to hear him play 
He'd apologize, an' say, 
Droppin' in the nighest cheer, 
"I can't on'y play by ear." 



Coaxed more smiles on them 'ere strings, 
More ol' steps an' pigeon wings, 
"Monnie Musks" an' "One, Two, Threes," 
Than a dozen or-chest-rys ! 
"Wasn't time fer" — sayin' was — 
"Feelin' sick er blue, because 

[121] 



Too durn bizzy," used t' say, 
"Hearin' ol' man Tollers play!" 
Wa'n't no blue spells ever hung 
When he got his fiddle strung! 
Wa'n't a soul would know, t' hear, 
That he only played by ear. 

Kep' a-sawin' that 'ere bow, 
Cheerin' folks, till a spell ago — 
Seen him last propped up in bed, 
Fever'd sort o' touched his head; 
Fiddle-box was there, but, law! 
Tollers plumb forgot t' saw; 
Jist was list'nin' far away, 
Hearin' angels' music play; 
Tuk my hand an' tried t' smile. 
Says: "I'll jine 'em after 'while 
If they'll let me . . . 

S'pose they'll keer 
'Cause I only play by ear?" 



[122] 



HOME 

A little bit o* romping and a little bit o* song, 
A little bit o' laughter through the hall, 

A little bit o* trouble and little something wrong, 
A little mother-kiss to soothe it all. 

A little flash of ribbon and a glint of gingham gown, 
A little smile from roguish eyes of blue, 

A little bit o' cheerfulness, a little bit o' frown, 
A little flash of tears for smiling through. 

A little curtained window and a happy little face, 
A storm of happy greetings at the door, 

A little throne of wicker by a little chimney-place, 
Nor all the kings of ages boasted more. 

A little place of longing where a father's midday 
dreams 
Will lead him from the sordid, busy way — 
So little — unpretentious! Such a rich reward it 
seems 
For the little bit of toiling in the day! 
[ 123 ] 



AN AUTUMN OCCUPATION 

Oh, I like to fall to musin' an a-peerin' through 

the haze 
At Summer's floss an' velvet and the golden, sun- 
washed days 
That we've sort o' left behind us; an' again in 

fancy tread 
The windin' paths we've turned from an' the 

pasture lanes that led 
Where the yellow birds was nestin', an' with real 

artistic fuss, 
Was singin' praise — the envy of the songless folks 

like us! 
Yes, I know it's out o' season an' such simple 

rhymes as these 
That try to breathe the blossom an' the greenery 

in the trees, 
Are apt to git pneumony such a chilly Autumn 

day, 
But when it gits October don't you like to dream 

of May? 

[ 124] 



If a feller only '11 try he can make himself 

believe 
That Autumn's no occasion fer a man to mope an' 

grieve ! 
He can tell himself — an' believe it! — it's a trick 

that Fancy plays, 
An' Summer days are hidin' just beyond a little 

ways — 
Just across the meadows, mebbe — where they're 

waitin' fer the call 
Of robins to surprise us with their blossom gowns 

an' all!— 
An' weave the blooms of Summer in the meshes 

of his song; 
That to-morrow he can wander through the lanes 

an' pathways long, 
If a feller can believe it, can you blame a feller — 



say 



If, when it gits October, he will set an' dream of 
May? 

There is somethin' in the spirit of the Autumn 

dark an' cold 
That reminds me of a feller who is gittin' gray an' 

old; 

[125] 



Does he talk of his infirmities an' troubles? No, 

sir-e-e-e, 
You'll find him 'spatiatin' on the way he used to 

be! 
He will disregard xoomatics an' he'll prob'ly dare 

you to 
The things a able-bodied man, like you are, couldn't 

do! 
An' he'll brag about his muscle an' his limbemess 

an' might 
Before he got so crippled an' his whiskers got so 

white ! 
Which ondignified deportment proves the thing I 

meant to say — 
I reckon that October alius will remember May! 



126 



LITTLE CHILD-O'-LOVE 

A laugh rings back through the years long gone, 

Clear and sweet as the wood stream flows — 
It comes from the fields and the hedgerows 
yon, 

Or from the spot where the red maple glows; 
It sings the days where our memories rove — 

Days ere the dream of our joy was done, 
When the world was smiles and the Child-o'- 
love 

Chased the beams of the kindly sun. 



It rings sometimes through the silent hall, 

Coming back from the Past and Gone 
Like echoes sweet — as she used to call 

Us to play when the day was done; 
It comes sometimes from the garden fair, 

Where all of the colors of Autumn mock 
The sunset; or in the hedgerow there, 

Lo! there's a glint of a gingham frock. 
[127] 



They're visions all! And the day that seems 

Blessed with the Child-o'-My-Love of old — 
That seems the day of my cherished dreams — 

Grows like the others, all drear and cold! 
There is no warmth of the sun without, 

None of its beams come a-streaming through, 
For the day that the Child-o'-My-Love went out 

Lo! the light of the sun went, too! 



[128] 



"SASSAFRAS" 

Etty's husband, Cass, lets on 

He's new-fangled-like, an' says — 
Shamelessly! — "Old times is gone 

'Long with old-time things an' ways"; 
Jis' lets on, you know, because 

He knows nothin' else will rile 
Me like talkin' that way does! — 

Nothin' makes my nature spile 
Like belittlin' ol' things, jis' 
Sweet to me as blossoms is! 



Like last Sunday, we all set 

On the stoop, with Et an' Cass, 
Somethin' 'ruther — I forget — 

Switched our talk to sassafras — 
Plain ol' sassafras, that I 

Fairly nursed on, boy an' man — 
Harb that I can testify 

Cures like no other can! 
[ 129] 



Cass, though, he jis' sneers an' says, 
"That's old-fashioned nowadays." 

Of all things I'm loyal to 

First of all is sassafras, 
So that riled me through an' through — 

Waved my hands, lit in to Cass! 
"What's it good for?" I says, "Hey?" 

"Janders, ain't it? Yes, an' that 
Run-down feelin', ain't it?" "Say?" 

Howsumever, Cass jist sat 
There an' says: "Then I'm su'prised 
Sassafras ain't recognized." 

"Recognized?" I says: "Blame-don 

Doctors, fat an' over-sized, 
Know which side their butter's on — 

That's why it ain't recognized! 
Ain't that proof?" I says — says I, 

Cornerin' Cass. But law-my-law! 
He jis' sat there, squinty-eye, 

Quiet-like an' chaw an' chaw — 

"What you chawin'?" I says; Cass 
Laffed an' hollered: 

"Sassafras!" 
[130] 



A NEIGHBORHOOD PICTURE 

Jist the way you look, Ben Tarr — 

Don't fix yerself a bit; 
You're the best the way you are 

An' you can't better it! 
Hat-brim floppin' left an' right, 

That shades your eyes o' blue — 
Telltale eyes that jist one sight 

Reveals the heart of you. 

Leave your shirt-front open, too — 

There's no one here that keers — 
Show the bronzed, broad chest of you 

That's breasted sixty years — 
Sixty years of toil, Ben Tarr, 

Whatever else that come — 
Breasted all the surge of war 

An' sorrows here at home. 

Don't you try to hide your hands! 
They're gnarled, I know, an' old, 

[131] 



Yet they're gnarled from tillin' lands, 
An' Life's tasks manifold — 

Giant's hands at work, Ben Tarr, 
Yet gentle in distress; 

'Pears to me they're fairer far 
In all their ugliness. 

Lean against that palin' fence, 

'Cause there's where you belong; 
Keerless? Yes! In consequence 

Expect a keerless song; 
Be yourself and plumb fergit 

You're "on parade" an' then 
Jist ease of? an' smile a bit 

An' wait the poet's pen. 



132] 



ONE MAN'S THEOLOGY 

I wouldn't disparage a single word 

The preachers tell of the blessed day, 
But nothin' yet that I've ever heard 

Has changed my belief in the smallest way; 
Whenever I look in the face of things, 
The buds that blooms an' the birds that sings 
"In spite of the preachers," I say, "I vow 
A pore man's heaven is here an' now!" 

"The Beautiful City of Paradise," 

That preachers picture don't fit at all 
With plans ordained by the Lord All-wise, 

Who marketh even the sparrow's fall; 
He knows our life an' He knows our love, 
An' knows the spots that we think most of, 
An' certain He wouldn't take me an' you 
To a place that we couldn't get usen to! 

I 'low it's folks from the city He 
Has promised the City of Paradise — 
[133] 



For folks that's used to the jamboree 

An' noise an' jangle an' monstrous size — 
For them He has builded the Golden Town, 
With music playin' 'til the sun goes down, 
An' harps an' fiddles an' noise — good land! 
That's more than a feller like me can stand! 

But as fer me — well, I like to think 

Of wakin' up in the Blessed Dawn, 
An' seein' the sun git up to drink, 

An' fields an' medders a-stretchin' on, 
An' woods with their summery green unfurled — 
A common, every-day, country world! — 
A-washin' its face in the mornin' dew, 
An' smilin' up in the face of you. 

Some cattle clankin' round the gate, 

An' old "snake-fence" where the chipmunks 
hide, 

An' old well-sweep with a groanin' weight 
That we remembered before we died; 

An' stick in a yeller-jack's nest, perhaps, 

For edification of curious chaps — 

Some Nature to love an' some room to roam, 

Or fellers like me won't feel at home! 
[134 3 



THE STREET MUSICIAN 

His form was bent and was wretched clad 
In garments tattered and worn and thin, 

But close to his face, in a fond embrace, 
Was his battered violin. 

His fingers, stiff" with the toil of years, 
Caressed the strings in a soft tattoo 

Till it soared aloft, or as low and soft 
As the drip of a drop of dew. 

The love of life and its song and cheer 
And rollicking joy — the faster he 

Plied the player's wand, were gathered 'round 
By his mystic mastery. 

A melody mad as a witch's song, 

Then low and soft as the twilight dies. 

It seemed to croon of an afternoon 
'Neath fair Italia's skies. 
[135] 



And gone was the gray from the dreary day, 
And gone from the street was the mist and chill, 

As charmed away by the spell of play 
And the gathering winds stood still. 

Ah, envy the player in tatters and rags 

Who coaxed good cheer to the crowded way 

With a song that sings of the brighter things 
And the cheer of a Summer day. 



[136] 



MATCH-MAKIN' 

Hiram's oldest girl, Tryphene, 
Wasn't dispositioned mean 
'Specially, exceptin' she 
Hated men folks generally! 
Badger her 'bout any man, 
Law! she'd drop her dish or pan 
Where she was and say — says she: 
"Mercy to me, no, sir-e-e-e. 
I don't want no man around, 
Trackin' up my floors! A hound 
'S bad enough, but hounds '11 stand 
Whippin's or a repermand!" 
Wasn't dispositioned mean 
'Specially, an' yet Tryphene 
Went on record time 'n' ag'in 
As against all marryin'. 



Eben, Hiram's hired man, 
Sort o' shared Trypheny's plan, 

L 137] 



'Cept as circumstance revokes — 
His complaint was wimin folks; 
Heerd him rant 'em time 'n' ag'in, 
Call 'em names like "Tremble-chin," 
"Chicken-heart," an' such as them, 
Claimin' that a woman's hem 
Wa'n't the place allotted man 
In the Lord Almighty's plan. 
"Half the fun in life," says he, 
"For a man, is bein' free — 
Free to go an' free to come, 
Spite of some one else's thumb 
Biddin' 'em, like wimin does" — 
Dead against 'em, Eben was! 

Bein' two so much alike, 
Naturally the lightnin' 'd strike 
Somewhere close around the pair — 
Which it did! — an' Lawsey they're 
Married, an' I rise to state 
Happy in each other's hate! 
Lovin'est of marriages — 
Seems such matches alius is! 



138] 



THE LONE ORCHARD SEAT 

Old Hans Kloph of Webbses Springs, 
Soft and sweetly Mem'ry sings 
These May days, old friend, of you — 
Where you've gone and wandered to. 
Where your pipe smoke is that spent 
Lazily, and spelled "Content" 
In the blossomed boughs that shed 
Petaled storms from overhead — 
Storms of blossoms, red an' white, 
Yet, as I recall to-night, 
With less of color an' of grace 
Than your ruddy, smilin' face. 



Every mem'ry lingers yet! 
There's the throne seat where you set 
Summer days for blessed hours, 
Reignin' 'mongst the garden flowers; 
Born to purple an' to rule 
Little folks that stopped from school 
[139] 



Truantwise, an' gethered there 
'Round the Kingdom of Your Chair; 
Listenin' whilst your fancy spent 
Fairy-tales — their wonderment 
An' the smiles they used to bring, 
Tribute to so good a king. 

There the fields an' meadows are, 
There your fancies roamed afar 
When the evenin' spell was on, 
An' your little subjects gone; 
Roamed across the fields an' woods, 
Beyond the seas to nayborhoods 
That you left to settle here 
And became a pioneer. 
Nor did those two tears we'd see 
Even smirch your loyalty! — 
Love of country never speaks 
Truer than your tear-stained cheeks! 

Maytime's every mood an' trend 
Speak to me of you, old friend! 
Not a petal seems to fall 
But the passin' breezes call 
[140] 



"Uncle Hans?" then seem to fade 
Sadder than the sighs they made! 
Mute I stand beside your chair, 
Dreamin' 'crost the meadows there 
Where you dreamt days past an' gone, 
Trustin' that you're over yon, 
Wanderin' with the spirit band 
Through your loved Fatherland! 



[141] 



A CREED 

Whatever is at hand! Ah! this 

Is Creed enough for you and me; 
To do whatever work there is, 

However small the task may be, 
Is better than for one to dream 

Of greater tasks than others do, 
That bring rewards, perchance, that seem 

Far richer than the tithes to you; 
Thrice blessed is he who takes his place, 

Though poor and humble in the land, 
And with a cheerful, smiling face 

Performs whatever is at hand. 



Some blessed day the gates will ope — 
The Builders of the World will move 

With souls of faith and hearts of hope, 
Upon the Temple made of Love; 

The Master Builder then will take 
A strict account of all, to see 
[ 142 ] 



Some one of all the host to make 
The Keeper of the Golden Key; 

He may choose fortune's son, and yet 
More apt a man who sought His side 

Without a claim, except he met 
Whatever was at hand — and tried! 



[143 J 



THE DEBT YOU OWE 

Your creditor — a child — stands there, 
A normal child with tossing hair — 
With grimy hands and smudgy thumbs, 
And childish charm save what the slums 
Have robbed him of and left him wan 
And thin, with half his boyhood gone. 

Your creditor? Why, yes, by right 
Of all the wealth and health and might 
God gave to you, for in your care 
He placed the little urchin there, 
And bade you hark to his distress 
And help him in his helplessness. 

You owe him fields and pleasant ways, 
The endless joys of boyhood days, 
The streams, the paths, and skies more fair 
Than he has dreamed, the country air 
The summer days with trees unfurled — 
The good, good green of God's great world. 
[i44] 



You owe him all that ever can 
Help fashion him a manly man; 
No common debt of such that is 
Offset, perchance, by promises, 
But one that stands forever — go, 
Go pay the child the debt you owe! 



[145] 



THE VILLAGE WAGON-SHOP 

In Uncle David's wagon shop 
The dusty webs, in festoons, drop 

Across this bench, then, stealing off 
To rafters overhead, they stop, 
Like slender threads of mem'ry play 
Through endless space of years, and sway 

First here and yon, then fasten on 
His workshop on a summer's day. 

Soft-lighted by the morning's rays, 
Through little panes, where thickly lays 

The silver dust of many years, 
Like ashes of forgotten days; 
The floor, deep-laid with many a curl 
Of oak or maple that unfurl 

Beneath the magic of his plane — 
The prize of favored boy and girl. 

A torpid silence, nigh intense, 
Save when, to break the strange suspense, 
[146] 



The redbirds pipe, "Ripe, cherry ripe!" 
From yonder on the garden fence, 
And cock their heads at Uncle Dave, 
Who answers with the gentle lave 

And purr of jack-plane in his hand 
Or "swish" of Uncle's old "spoke-shave." 

Ere morning sun its height has found, 
A hale "Hello!" — the welcome sound 

Of some old comrade come to rest 
And dream the happy hours around. 
And, oh, the tales that they repeat, 
The camp, the march, advance, retreat 

Of other years, that hold the ears 
Of wonder children at their feet! 

The summer winds pause there to stare 
Or catch the lilt of laughter there, 

Then blow away and bear the tales 
To wonder children everywhere, 
Until, where'er their fancies drop, 
It seems a man needs only stop 

To sense the blest companionship 
Of Uncle David's wagon-shop! 
[147] 



To-night it all comes back to me, 
Soft-touched with blessed memory — 

A dream that can grow real again 
No more than Golden Youth can be; 
Though years of work and strife they've met, 

But somewhere in the world, I think, 
The summer winds are smiling yet. 



[148] 



WHEN JOE ALLEN COMES TO VISIT 

When Joe Allen comes to visit, 
Seems that then our children jest 

Make a heap more noise than common — ■ 
Tear around like all possessed! 

Seem to know he's jest a "Boardin' 

Bachelor" — an' act accordin'! 

Joe's my old-time friend of boyhood; 

Never married no one, 'cause 
Says there "ain't no woman wants him," 

Like old "bachs" alius does! 
Naturally our children fret him — 
Seem to sort o' plum' upset him. 

We don't git no more than started 
Talkin' 'fore them kids begin! 

First it's "Pa" this, that, an' t'other — 
"Lemme out," or "Lemme in!" 

'Til I ups an' hollers, "Daisy, 

Stop these kids or Joe'll go crazy!" 
[149] 



Sometimes have to quit my smokin', 
Git right down an' be a hoss — 

Ride some dadburned little young un 
Straddle clear to Banb'ry Cross! 

Law! ol' Joe can't scarcely ever 

Git a word in edgeways — never! 

Down to our house Joe's uneasy — 
Seems to fret his peace of mind 

Havin' children all around him! 
Him an' me can't never find 

Much to occupy us, nuther, 

'Cept feel sorry for each other! 



ISO 



THE CHURCH IN THE FOREST 

Far out in the woods where the feet of Spring 

Trip lightly over the velvet sod — 
Where trees and blossoms and everything 

Exhale a purity 'kin to God, 
There stands a curious kind of church, 
With colonnades of the elm and birch, 
And aisles of greenery lead away 
Soft-carpeted with the bloom of May. 

No bells to chime and no lofty spire 
As men erect in their foolish pride, 
But only the trees that reach high and higher 

And arch the temple God sanctified; 
Or turn their leaves to the skies of blue, 
To let the smile of the sun come through 
And mix its gold with the dainty trace 
Of violets at the altar-place. 

No choristers save the yellow-throat, 

The finch, and thrush in the silent trees, 
[I5i] 



That wait the sound of the leader's note 

And pour their hearts in their melodies; 
Then cease their song, and the woods grow still, 
The daisy, phlox, and the jonquil 
Bow down their heads with the finch and thrush 
And God speaks out from the woodland hush. 

Who worships there? Ah, the troubled man 

Whom dogmas, creeds, and the like betray — 
Who knows of God and His Mercy plan 

From those who teach of it all for pay, 
Yet doubts and fears till his weary search 
Directs him there to the woodland church, 
And there at last is the Truth he sought 
In the great outdoors that God's power wrought. 



[152] 



AN OLD MAN MUSING 

As for myself, why, I really feel 

As young as ever — as if the seal 

Of Youth were fixed on my furrowed brow 

By Time itself, with a whispered vow 

That "Youth shall gladden this heart of thine 

As long as the suns of the summer shine." 

The old illusions that seemed so real 

Seem just as real and entrancing now, 

The same bright smile and the sweet content — 

The woodland bloom and the meadow scent, 

Are just the same in the Afterglow 

As the scent and bloom in the Long Ago. 



'Tis only they that believed me old 
Who measure one's age by the years, and hold 
That silvering hair and the dimming eye 
Are signs of the most of a life gone by; 
And none of them know how I keep my prime 
By special pact with the rascal Time! 
[153] 



They wipe my specs and the children fold 
My old cape coat and they steady my 
Uncertain way to my easy-chair 
To smoke and chat with my fancies there, 
While back in the shadows they whisper low 
Of Age's pities I never know! 

When summer calls from the sunny porch 
I strain my eyes for the flaming torch 
The sumachs wave from the roadside yon, 
And beckon a young old fellow on 
To rosied ways of his youth again, 
As sweet and budding to-day as then — 
To rest, perhaps, in my aimless march 
And dream of days and friendships gone — 
To spring to youth at the clover's touch, 
Of robin's greeting, and marvel much 
How well we're holding our age, we three — 
The smiling world and the skies — and me! 



154 



AT THE HORSE SALE 

Head up! Head up! Y-e-a, boy! Whoa! 
There's a hoss jist built for show, 
Mister — What's-your-name ? Oh yes, 
Sold you once before, I guess. 
Didn't I? An' treated you 
Fair an' square an' honest, too. 
Didn't I? Well, then you know 
What I say is so is so! 
Look at that there head an' that 
Tail an' mane — aristocrat! — 
'S what he is! Won't associate 
With no common, low-bred mate! 
Look at how that ankle's turned! — 
Woman's ankle! — yes, an' learned 
All the gaits a jockey rides, 
An' he's reinwise, too, besides — 
That shows class! Well, is he smooth? 
Smoother than a hound-dawg's tooth — 
Not a pimple, no sir-e-e-e — 
Far's a man with sight can see! 
[iS5] 



Speedful, too! He'd do about 
Thirty if you'd work him out; 
Figure? Well, two fifty's what 
I've been askin' for him, but 
'Count of that there caster and 
Splint — that's harmless, understand- 
Harmless — and because it's you — 
What's-your-name? — I'm sellin' to, 
I suppose I'd take two ten — 

Lead him out, boy! 

Sold again! 



[156] 



YOUTH AND AGE 

"It seems so long a time," Youth sighs, 
"For years to come and years to go! — 
The years drag on so halt and slow!" 

And Youth, in its impatience, cries 

For haste to where the sunshine lies 
On peaks that only Age can know — 
Where promises, like fool's gold glow 

And lure them with a worthless prize. 

Life's sweetest joys Youth will not see, 

The paths that lead through pleasant fields, 

The right of Youth to wander free, 
And all the joy that Freedom yields; 

But Youth knows best what Life should be, 

And bides Time's flight impatiently. 

"It seems so short a time," Age cries 
And wrings its hands and bows its head; 
It's gained the peaks the pathways led 
Where Faith has whispered Fortune lies — 
But where the goal and where the prize? 
[iS7l 



The golden glint of hope has fled! — 

The fool's gold now, all turned to red, 
And Age knows now Life falsifies. 
"So short a time!" It goes so fleet 

That scarcely do we have To-day 
'Ere evening stars and sunset meet; 

The day of Youth has passed away, 
And blooms, that Yesterday were sweet, 
Lie faded now at weary feet. 



158 



THE RETURN OF SUNSHINE 

For days the wind's been a-hoverin' north 

In a sort of a changeable way, you know, 
And howlin', mebbe, for all it is worth, 

Or droppin' down to a stiddy blow; 
The world's been more than unusual gray 
And sorrowful like, for many a day, 
And everybody that hadn't some 
Work a-callin' 'em stayed t' hum. 

'Til to-day when the sun come out 

And life and all of its joy come in, 
And the China drake went struttin' about 

And waddled off with its mate ag'in; 
And cattle and sheep they rubbed their nose, 
As animile lovers does, I 'spose, 
And the hired man and Elizabeth Prime 
Are makin' up for the dozunth time. 



[159] 



THE UNCERTAINTY OF SPRING 

"But Spring, ain't here," I alius say, says I, 

"'Till sorrel's up, an' so is ribbon grass, 
An' bumblebees git playin' 'hi-an'-spy' 

Amongst the blooms or in the garden sass; 
'Til hangbird comes an' then as quick is gone — 

All-fired mad! — to'rds county seat an' jest 
As if she'd gone for a dispossessment on 

The butcher-bird that stole her last year's nest. 



I've alius held that Spring ain't really here 

'Til old man Hines, who alius went to sea 
For fifty years, forsakes his easy-chair 

An' tromps his porch so 'tarnal restlessly, 
An' snaps his jaws an' hunts until he's found 

Brass-button coat an' his old sailor hat — 
An' almost cries for a chance to sail around 

The world again, 'cause some folks think it's 
flat. 

[160I 



I can't give in that Spring is here until 

The young folks mate an' pair off down the lane, 
An' set an' court like young folks alius will, 

An' stay there, too, in spite of bugs an' rain! — ■ 
They talk and dream, with each a happy heart, 

An' plan their home, yit alius they forgit 
Or overlook the most important part: 

The mortgage lease all plastered over it. 

I won't give in that Spring is here because, 

Well, mebbe, 'cause I'm jealous of it all, 
For Spring with me ain't what it used to was 

A spell ago, when I was what you'd call 
A Lochinvar, skylarkin' hereabout, 

An' shinin' up to purty gals — y' see, 
I'm gettin' gray an' old as all git out, 

An' every Spring means one less Spring to me! 



161] 



HOME FROM SCHOOL 

See the Township Road ag'in 
Full o' snow an' driftin' in, 
Leavin' jist a track or two 
For the boys to waller through — 
Healthy boys with cheeks as red 
As the sun's glow overhead — 
Smartest boy an' biggest fool 
Trudgin' home ag'in from school. 

Smartest boy an* fool! The two 

Pair off like, an' waller through 

Snow that's drifted since they went, 

Deep as they re enjoyment! 

Never seem to mind the cold 

Nor the hardships manifold — 

Hearts are lighter, as a rule, 

When they're trudgin' home from school. 

Dumbdest boy is shy on books, 
But he knows the woodland nooks — 
[162] 



Knows about the birds an' bees, 

How to tell the different trees, 

Where the swimmin'-hole is at — 

Other infermation that 

Boys should know of through and through — 

Tells his chum about 'em, too. 

Smartest boy is differ'nt — well, 

He knows how to write an' spell, 

Multiply, divide, subtract, 

Fractions, too — an' be exact; 

Yet how poor his knowledge seems 

When his fool companion dreams 

Of the woods or swimmin'-pool 

Whilst they're trudgin' home from school. 

So in Life they'll wander through 
Arm in arm an' two by two, 
Like they used t' come from school — 
Smartest man an' dumbdest fool; 
Happy as two men kin be 
In each other's company — 
Each a-learning', 'fore he's done, 
Sumthin' from the other one! 



163 



A GOOD-NATURED LOAFER 

'Long about this time o' year 

May's a-ringin' 'round the rosy, 
Blushin' plum' from ear t' ear 

An' purty as a garden posy, 
'Pears t' me a feller then 

Had surely orter be forgiven 
Shirkin' work an' worries when 

There's better ways an' means o' livin'! 
Gimme hook an' line an' bait 

An' dawg or two t' tag behind me — 
Want t' see me then, just wait — 

Or ma kin tell y' where t' find me! 

Ma makes out she's plum give up 

Reformin' me, an' doubtful whether 
I'm the worst, or lop-yeared pup, 

An' 'lowin' that we go together! 
Hides my coat as like as not, 

But then what is coat — or lack — or 
Ennything as long's I got 

A hook an' line an' plug terbacker? 
[164] 



Earthly things! now, what are they 

When a feller hears th' willers swishin' — 

Hears 'em calling far away 
An' bid him "fishin'— fishin'— fishin'." 



Up an' down ol' scraggly banks — 

The banks that I know every rod of, 
Twist an' turns an' all their pranks, 

An' love the very grasses an' sod of; 
Know where chubs is speshul thick 

An' where they're scarcer, too — doggone it! 
Ain't a root in all the crick 

That sometime I wa'n't snagged upon it! 
Even birds, it seems t' me, 

Take no account of me — but dippin' 
Chirpin', too, contentedly, 

Like me an' them was pardner-shippin ! 



Watch ol' turkle on a stun 

A-blinkin' like a wise ol' seer — 

Sort o' says: "Thy will be done," 
Which corresponds with my ideer. 

Worter-snake comes out — p'tends 
[165I 



As if he's tryin' t' wiggle "Howdy!" 
Drat him, I don't make no friends 

With his espeshul style o' rowdy! 
All I want 's my fleabit pup 

An' turkle there — an' it's amazin' 
How it bolsters us three up 

A-doin' nothin' only lazin. 

Know when noon comes on because 

My stomach tells me when — or orter — 
True as slantin' shadders does 

That kitter 'cross the lazy worter; 
Sort o' dream, an' doze a bit, 

An' listen to the willers swishin' — 
Wonder if she's angry yit 

Because I up an' went a-fishin'P 
Sudden-like, across the knoll, 

The sound of dinner-horn reminds me — 
I'll fergive her, bless her soul! — 

I told y' she'd know where t' find me! 



1 66 




A-DOIN NOTHIN ONLY LAZIN 



LINES FROM A BACHELOR'S DEN 

No man hath ever entered here 

Who would not cast all woe aside — 
Who could not bring a tithe of cheer 

Where fellowship and joy abide — 
Who would not pass 
The brimming glass 
And pledge us, with his upraised hand, 

The best that Fate might send along, 
The best of friends and fortune, and 

Forget the rest in cheer and song. 

And yet, I know, a guest will come 

Some winter's night through yonder door- 
His name, Old Age, all speechless, dumb, 
His straggling locks so thin and hoar; 
But, ancient soul, 
He'll fill his bowl 
And pipe, as all my comrades know; 

No song will break the midnight spell, 
But we shall watch the backlog's glow 
And like each other very well. 
[167] 



AND THIS IS THE WAY IT WAS 

Used to be our hired man, 
Hawley was, an' a capital han', 
'Ceptin' that he had a hint — 
Sort of a impidimint — 
In his speech, that he'd allow 
"Wa'n't folks' business anyhow!" 
That was jist his story, 'cause 
Tongue-tied' s what he really was! 

Used to court our daughter Nell, 
Hawley did; for quite a spell 
Skylarked 'round before we knew — 
Down to Literary, too — 
"Sings" an' dances, jamborees, 
Everywhere our Nell would please — 
Claimed she understood about 
Every word that he spit out. 

Ma an' me showed our good sense — 
Knowed from our experience 

[168I 



'Twa'n't no time for mixin' in 
Nellie's plans, nor go ag'in 
Nellie's hopes, so we agrees 
When she up an' says that he's 
Good as any on the Hill, 
Jist as long as he kept still! 

Climax come one night when they 
Harnessed up an' drove away — 
Reg'lar moonlight courtin' spell! 
Never could git Nell to tell 
How it come! I 'spose they was 
Talkin' soft like lovers does; 
What he really said was, "Who?" 
What she thought he said was, "You!" 

That's how Hawley owns — an' clear — 
The finest farm in the county here; 
That's how come it that I've got 
Such a fine, uncommon lot — 
Crop, I'd say — of gals an' boys 
Trompin' 'round an' makin' noise; 
Thanks to Nellie — she's their mother — 
None of 'em is tongue-tied nuther! 



169 



WHISTLIN' PHIN 

01' Phin Tidman strikes me right! 
Seems to give him real delight 
Bein' what you might call quaint — 
Bein' what most people ain't; 
Whistles mornin', night, an' noon, 
Same old doggone see-saw tune 
"Old cow died on," seems to me, 
Happy as a man kin be — 
Says he whistles an' he sings 
"Jist to make the best of things." 

Time Doc Bird drove up here in 
His old sulky, bringin' Phin 
A bran'-new bow-leg baby boy, 
Phin nigh sprung hisself with joy! 
Joy was twice as real an' true 
When Doc whispered, " Phin, there's two, 
Then, "There's three!" Well, when that come 
It sort o' squashed Phin's whistlin some, 
Yit he never stopped a bit — 
Says, "I'll make the best of it!" 
[ 170] 



When his wife forsook his side, 

Got consumpted-like, an' died, 

No one knows or never kin 

Jist how much it meant to Phin; 

He wa'n't no hand for fuss or show — 

Never peddled grief, you know — 

Jist went out an' fed the steers, 

Watered 'em with honest tears; 

Let up whistlin' for a bit 

Whilst he "made the best of it." 

An' he made the best of it — 

Raised his children pack an' kit, 

'Tended 'em an' wiped their nose 

Well's a woman, I suppose; 

Bought their things, an' patched 'em, too, 

Like a man ain't fit to do! 

Yit his whistle an' his smile 

Kept him hullsome all the while — 

Livin' proof his record brings 

Of his "Make the best of things." 



[I7i] 



JUST ABOUT NOW 

It's just on the "hay-an'-grass line," a little 

betwixt an' between, 
A mixin' of clouds an' of sunshine, a mixin' of 

somber an' green; 
A time when the call of the robin gets sort o' 

mixed up with the snarl 
Of Winter, that's back'ards in leavin', an', oh, 

how the two of 'em quarrel! 
The "happy-sad" days we can call 'em an' not 

overestimate none, 
When Winter ain't quit by a jugful an' Spring- 
time has scarcely begun 1 
The maple sap drippin' an' drippin' like woman's 

tears do when she cries, 
Expresses a feller's own feelin's far better than 

rhymes, I surmise. 

The maple that's quietly weepin', an' yender a 

sorrowful hush 
That just sort o' seems to go with it, hangs over 

the meadow an' brush — 
[172] 



A hush that would give me the blues if it wa'n't 
that I'm sensin' the swish 

Of willows off there by the crick-bank — -a thirty- 
day promise to fish! 

The sun will come out for a minute an' kitter 
across, an' blamedon 

We grab for the sunbeams like children an' then 
'fore we know it they're gone! 

Stole right 'fore our eyes, as you might say, by 
March the worst thief of 'em all, 

Yit leavin' us happy as children an' glad that we 
saw 'em a' tall! 

The "hay-an'-grass line" 's what I call it, the 
border 'twixt worry an' hope, 

When Winter an' Spring go a-chasin' like heifers 
that's busted their rope — 

When shadders hang on for a minute 'til the sun 
drives 'em off in the woods, 

A time that reminds us of wimin, we love 'em 
because of their moods, 

Their sunshine an' smiles an' hysterics, an' all- 
fired light on their feet, 

An' visions of happiness, beauty an' roses onusually 
sweet ! — 

[ 173 ] 



A time that's inspirin', hopeful, with the knack of 

a-puttin' the starch 
In a feller's backbone — Oh, doggone her, y' can't 

help a-lovin' her — March! 



[174] 



A TASK FOR THE RHYMESTER 

Songs of home! It's hard to rhyme 
Such a theme in measured time, 
Since its sweetness seems to be 
In the way it wanders free — 
Careless-like — at no one's will, 
Heedless of the poet's skill; 
No sir-e-e-e, don't cut an' pare 
Rhymes that's lurkin' everywhere 
'Round the old home place, but git 
Words to fit the lilt of it- 
Words, though minus time an' feet, 
That 'II rhyme 'em drippin' sweet! 



Where's the measured rhyme to fit 
Home an* all that's part of it? — 
Saggin' sills an' vines that spread 
Love an' blossoms overhead — 
Lop-yeared pup beside the stoop — 
Ginny-hens an' chicken-coop — 
[i7S] 



Black Minorcy's struttin' out 

Bossin' things, an' cuss about 

Hens that shirked their work an' staid 

In the kerren-bushes' shade; 

Home with all the trimmin's on, 

Autumn hills an' fields beyon'! 

Songs of home. Who'll write 'em down? — 

Write 'em for the folks in town, 

Folks that's mebbe sort o' strayed 

Off from where they'd orter stayed? 

Write 'em careless, write 'em free, 

Not as poets think they be, 

But with all the lilt an' rhyme 

They possess in harvest-time; 

Keep your muses "haw-ed" an' "gee-ed" 

So the folks in town will read 

In between the lines an' say: 

"Wonder why I come away?" 



176 



A LONGIN' 

I'm tired of the hurry an' the scurry of the times, 

An' hearin' life a-singin' in her artificial rhymes; 

I'm tuckered out a-lookin' for the good, old- 
fashioned joys 

An' never findin' nothin' but the town's all-fired 
noise ! 

I'm gettin' kind o' restless for a quiet spot, I jocks! 

A "gee-an'-haw" condition that you might call 
paradox! 

I'd swap a year of strivin' jist to join hands with 
June 

In our ol'-fashioned parlor on a Sunday afternoon. 

I'd like to see the fambly an' the fambly's next of kin, 
An' such amongst the naybors as was used to 

"droppin' in" — 
The Mosier folks, Tryphoney Plumb, Serepty Ann 

an' May, 
That wa'n't no more our Sunday friends than 

friends of every day; 
I 177] 



The Saxhorne folks an r Mingers*, too, an' Miss 
Sophrenny Pease, 

An' coax her till she'd condescend to stroke the 
organ keys, 

An' have her play the "Rye Straw" or a polky — - 
not so good 

For Sunday music, mebbe, but the kind I under- 
stood. 

Or patriotic pieces that would make the rafters 

ring 
Like "Comin', Father Abraham," an' everybody 

sing 
Like all git out, then switch the tune an' pitch 

from what they was, 
An' tremble off to gospel hymns that's fav-er-ites 

of ma's; 
When gloamin* comes a-creepin' on before the 

lamps are lit — 
The time o' night when nothin' but the silence 

seems to fit- 
Then settle back in parlor there an' watch the 

shadders fade, 
An' shut our noise in favor of the bullfrog's sere- 
nade. 

[178] 



That's peacefulness an' quiet of a certain sort o' 
brand 

That folks brung up in cities never seem to under- 
stand ! 

It's restful an' it's godly an' it's hullsome through 
an' through, 

It's like a benediction that's a-hoverin' over you; 

It's soothin' to the feelin's an' it's healin' to the 
heart, 

An' cures nervous troubles 'less they've got too 
big a start! 

It tones a feller's system jist to join hands with 
June 

In some ol'-fashioned parlor on a Sunday after- 
noon! 



I I79J 



EVENIN' 

Evenin' is a theme '11 make 

Eyelids water some, an' take 

Hold of people's heartstrings so 

Soft, an' twang 'em sweet an' low 

That the very notes of 'em 

Seem to chord with Kingdom Come! — 

Seem to strike where memories 

An' your recollections is — 

Signals back old faces, too, 

Near an' dear an' lost to you, 

'Til they sort o' reconcile 

You to partin's after while. 

So I dream when early night 

Spreads her gloam of silver light 

Over all, an' through the haze 

Pictures old forgotten days — 

Yes, old friends an' faces, too, 

An' evenin's there at home with you. 

Summer evenin's when the night 
Ambled from the hills of light, 

[180] 



Loath to spoil so fair a day — 
Sparin' every reddened ray 
Of the evenin's sun until, 
To the dirge of whip-poor-will, 
Cricket song, an* sighin' breeze, 
It had vanished in the trees. 
Imagination pictures plain 
Father comin' down the lane — 
Mother waitin', like she says 
She did in their courtin' days, 
An' the dusk an' silvery dew 
Fallin' gently on the two — 
Somethin' in it, I declare, 
Seemed to glorify 'em there; 
Oh, the wealth of sweetness in 
Summer evenin's home ag'in! 

Winter evenin's, when the day 
Galloped toward the hills of gray 
Like the Johnny Rebels went 
'Head of father's regiment, 
Like he alius told about 
When we got the walnuts out 
Winter nights an' cracked an' et — 
Nights that I remember yet! 
[181] 



Where on earth or skies above, 
Is the wealth of wholesome love 
That was there, with each one jes' 
Sharin' t'other' s happiness? — 
An' cross the field, the lights 
Beamin' nayborly "good nights," 
Musin' on it seems to start 
Eyes a-waterin'! 

How my heart 
Aches for them that never knew 
Evenin's there at home with vou! 



[iti) 



THE POET DREAMER 

"Those were the days," they say, and limn 
Their songs to the days of the lost sunshine — 
They spread their filmiest verse upon 
The dancing dew of the silver dawn 
Of the old days of the Passed and Gone. 

"Those were the days," they write, and drop 

A bitter tear on the line and stop 

Their measured rhyme of old friends forgot — 

A fancy sweet or a passing thought 

Of summer romps in the orchard lot. 

"Those were the days," they say, and lo! 
Remembered days of the Long Ago 
Shine golden-like through the mist of years — 
Forgotten pleasures pile tiers on tiers, 
Diminishing as the Present nears. 

"Those were the days," and the poet's pen 
Trails on and on of the Days of Then, 
[183] 



As though, like the dew of the olden dawn 
And the webs and weaves that if °ashed upon, 
The best of living were passed and gone. 

"Those were the days," they sigh, and yet 
They overlook or they quite foiget 
To-morrow — Now — is as sweet and fair, 
With as much of Love and of kindly care, 
And friendship around them ev< rywhere! 



THE END 



C 49 89 I 



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